Hindsight
by Storychan
Summary: Cas sees how depressed Dean is. He can't change the tragic past, but he can change who was there to witness it, and maybe that will change the future. This is how an ordinary girl winds up thrown into the world of Supernatural. She knows all the bad that's about to happen to the Winchesters, but can she stop it? Hindsight is 20/20, and Kelley sees all, even if she doesn't want to.
1. Chapter 1

Hindsight: A _Supernatural _Fanfiction

By: Storychan

Summary: Cas sees how depressed Dean is. He can't change the tragic past, but he can change who was there to witness it, and maybe that will change the future. This is how an ordinary girl winds up thrown into the world of Supernatural – she knows every bad thing that is about to happen to the Winchesters. She can't tell them what the future holds. But the bigger question is, can she stop it? Hindsight is 20/20, and Kelley sees all, even if she doesn't want to. Dean x OC. Self-insert.

Chapter 1

**Castiel's POV – Takes place directly after the events of 9x10 "Road Trip": **

"_Come on man, can't you see, I'm poison. People get close to me they get killed, or worse. I tell myself I help more people than I hurt and I tell myself that I'm doing it all for the right reasons and I believe that. But I can't - I won't drag anyone anybody into the muck with me - not anymore."_

That was the last thing Castiel heard Dean say before Sam told him to "just go", before he just….left. Dean just got in his car and drove away, leaving Cas and Sam by the side of the road, surprised, but not surprised at the same time.

Cas felt he should have seen this coming. Dean had always tended to blame himself for things, even if they weren't his fault. Cas didn't think everything that had happened recently was _all _Dean's fault, at least. Some of the blame fell at Cas' own feet. He was the one who had caused all the angels to fall to Earth. Not Dean.

It was his fault, then, not Dean's, that the angel Gadreel had appeared when Dean prayed for somebody to save his brother's life. His fault that Gadreel had tricked Dean into letting him possess Sam. His fault that Gadreel had turned out to be working for their enemy, had killed their friend Kevin and then took off in Sam's body, leaving Dean with nothing.

They'd exorcised Gadreel from Sam, finally, but by now the damage was done. Sam couldn't trust Dean anymore, and Dean couldn't forgive himself for letting this happen.

But Dean still couldn't just….leave, could he? Just decide that he didn't deserve to be around people, and cut his ties with everyone?

"He's going to come back, right?" Cas asked aloud, turning to Sam and coming back to reality.

"I don't care," Sam snapped in reply, then turned away.

"I can see that you are angry with your brother," Cas noted. "But when has separating ever worked out for us before? You can't just let him punish himself like this."

"Dean can do whatever the hell he wants, Cas," Sam insisted. "But me? I'm not going to waste my time worrying about him. I'm going to go back to the Men Of Letters library and work on finding a weapon that can kill Gadreel once and for all. I'm more worried about the fact that he's still out there than I am about this little….I don't know…tantrum, or mental breakdown, or whatever, that Dean is having. You can help me, or you can leave. What's it going to be?"

Cas frowned. He had looked down on Sam and Dean from Heaven long before he'd actually met them in person. He knew they fought all the time now, but he also knew that it hadn't always been this way. Those two boys, at one point, had trusted each other more than anything else. But right around the time Cas had come into the picture, everything changed. Dean spent a year in Hell. Sam sought comfort with a demon woman and became addicted to the power he gained from consuming her blood. Both boys had become….darker. And though Sam had been cured of his blood addiction, and Dean had stopped having nightmares about Hell, years ago now, the boys had never regained the relationship they once had.

Or, had it even been perfect before that? If Cas had to pinpoint it, Dean's breakdown into a person who was just….done with life had begun years before that, when his father, John, had sacrificed himself to save him. Dean had blamed himself, and undergone radical emotional change. He'd even taken a tire iron to his beloved '67 Chevy Impala.

Yes, Castiel realized. Dean had been a mess for quite some time now. When given the option, a year after John's death, to die in order to save Sam, Dean had jumped at it so eagerly, as if he didn't enjoy the thought of living another year. Dean had such low self-esteem that he believed his own life was worth nothing, that if he were to give up his life, it wouldn't have mattered much in the grand scheme of things.

He had been very wrong. Castiel was proof of that. God had sent him to bring Dean back from the dead after the aforementioned sacrifice had proved unavoidable. Dean had a destiny, or so his Father had told him. He was going to be the vessel for Cas' older brother, the Archangel Michael, and he would then defeat Lucifer in battle and bring about the End Times.

But Dean had said "screw that", and proceeded to save the world, on his own terms. Things had seemed so simple back then. The enemy was clear, as was the quest. But now? They were dealing with angelic civil war, working with demons to further their objectives and wondering, constantly, if the ends justified the means.

Dean couldn't stand it. If he couldn't stand John's death, Sam's death, or his own destiny, he certainly couldn't stand what they were dealing with now. When Cas looked into Dean's soul, he saw a man who had seen enough battles and enough death. A man who would rather be alone than watch another friend die.

_But we need him, _Cas realized. _We need him to be strong, to be able to pull himself together and keep fighting before my brothers end the world with their squabbling…again. But as it stands now, Dean will not speak to, or trust, Sam or I. And we're the only people in his life who are still alive._

Then Cas remembered something. He remembered how he had sent Dean back to the 1970s once, to meet younger versions of his parents, Mary and John Winchester, before Dean was even a glimmer in their eye. He hadn't allowed Dean to change the past, or to prevent the demon Azazel from making a deal with Mary that would eventually lead to her tragic demise in 1983. Changing the past could lead to nightmarish butterfly effects, and as an angel Cas couldn't allow it.

So, he figured, he couldn't go back and stop Dean from losing John, from dying to spare Sam's life, or to stop any of the other tragic things that had led Dean into the depression he was sinking into today.

_But, _Cas recognized, _ even though I cannot change these destined events, I can find a way to make them more bearable for Dean. What if there was another person in his life, besides Sam or I? Someone who had never betrayed him. Someone he would never betray._

_What if putting one more person into Dean's story….could change how the story ends?_

**Kelley's POV – Somewhere in Appalachia**

Hey. I'm Kelley. I'm your average _Supernatural _fangirl. OK, maybe I'm an above-average _Supernatural _fangirl. Not only have I watched every episode of every season of the show, I've also read all the tie-in novels and the comic books and seen the anime adaptation. I have two official merchandise shirts and an unofficial anti-demonic-possession sigil necklace that, around here, keeps getting me mistaken for a Satanist (Not that I mind – Freaking judgmental old people out is fun). So it's no surprise that on a Monday night, instead of doing my homework like I really should be, I was texting my friend about how much I love Dean Winchester.

_I don't ship Destiel tho, _I told her. _Or Wincest. I guess that makes me weird in this fandom._

_Who DO you ship with Dean, then? _My friend replied. Before I could reply, she sent me another message. _Let me guess: Dean x Yourself! You wish that you lived in that world, don't you?_

I blushed. _Shut up lol, _I texted back. _I get that he's fictional. _

_But you want him anyway, don't you? _My friend teased.

_Well…_ I thought for a minute about how to explain this. _ It's just…Dean's been through so much. I just want to hug him and tell him everything's ok. _

_You say you get he's fictional, _my friend pointed out. _But the way you talk about him, it's just like you care about him, like a real person._

I shook my head. _Come on lol. It's not like that. I know the difference between fantasy and reality. I'm not Becky haha. _

I was about to remind my friend of the hilariously meta episode that introduced Becky, the Wincest fangirl parody that reminded me so much of some of the sillier fans I found on . But then I heard a loud thud from my living room.

_Son of a bitch, _I thought. _Did my roommates break something?_

I set down my phone and left my room for the living room, prepared to give the girls I lived with at my college a piece of my mind. But when I stepped into the room, I found that nobody was there. However, the TV was slightly crooked.

_Did it fall over? _I wondered. I walked over to it and grabbed it, trying to put it back where it was. But then suddenly it…._shocked _me. I looked more closely at it, and that was when I saw something I couldn't explain. I knew that the TV was off…but a picture was displayed onscreen anyway, of a cluster of buildings I didn't recognize.

_What…..the hell?! _I thought to myself, then reached out a hand to touch the screen. My hand went straight through it! In shock, I dropped the edge of the TV, which I'd been supporting with my other hand. Then suddenly I found myself falling forward… "Whoa…what's happening?!"

Suddenly I was falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole. Then, everything went black.

I woke up to sunlight radiating at my eyelids.

_What a weird dream, _I thought groggily. _I thought I was….falling through my TV?_

_That's it, _I told myself. _I need to stop watching weird shows before bed. _

_Now, it's time for me to open my eyes and try to get ready for math class without waking up my roommate, just like every day. _

But when I opened my eyes, I wasn't in my bed, in my dorm. I wasn't even indoors. I was outside, lying on a park bench beneath a shady tree. "Where am I?" I muttered. Had one of my friends taken me out of my bed and dropped me in the middle of campus as a prank?

But when I sat up, I saw that this wasn't my campus at all. It was definitely a college campus, but not one I could ever recall seeing before. "Where am I?" I cried again, this time getting really scared. A newspaper blew into my face on some capricious wind, and the first thing I saw was the date: _October 31, 2005._

"That's….not possible," I told myself. This had to be the set-up for an elaborate joke, right? "Seriously, what is this?"

It was then that I heard a feminine voice behind me. "It's Halloween! What's the matter, are you drunk or something?" I heard a trilling laugh. "It's ok. I'm about to go do some drinking myself. I think that's what everyone here at Stanford is planning on doing tonight."

"Stanford?" I repeated. "Like, the university? In California?"

"Wow, you must be _really _out of it," the voice replied. "Do you need me to help you back to your dorm? I mean, you're a student here, too, right?"

"No, I…." I finally looked at the woman who was speaking to me. When I did, my heart almost stopped. Wavy, beach-blonde hair. Tanned skin. And a sexy nurse costume. This woman looked _exactly _like Jessica, Sam Winchester's girlfriend, looked in the pilot episode of _Supernatural_, in the scene where she was…..Going drinking with Sam. On October 31st. At Stanford.

_No, there's no way. _I thought. _It can't be. Maybe she's a Supernatural fan, cosplaying Jessica. That would make sense…right? But why would there be a cosplayer here? Why was __**I **__here? And how was I supposed to explain the newspaper, that claimed the year was 2005 instead of 2014? A misprint? _

Then I looked at the other buildings in the area, behind this woman who…..couldn't be Jessica, right? Of course she couldn't. Jessica was a fictional character. _Supernatural_ was just a show on…

_TV! _Suddenly, I remembered the dream (It had to be a dream, right?) that I'd had about falling through my TV. I remembered on the screen had been buildings. The buildings I was standing in front of now looked _exactly _like those buildings.

"But…..this is…."

"Hey, Jess!" I heard a male voice call, and then I turned around and saw….What? Was that Jared Padalecki, the actor who played Sam Winchester on _Supernatural_?! No way! What could he be doing here?

"Jess, who's this girl?" he asked. "Is she a friend of yours?"

He was calling the woman Jess. As in, Jessica. Was this a live reenactment of the pilot episode? Some sort of promotional performance art? Why would Jared….

But then I realized….no, the man standing in front of me couldn't be Jared. Jared's hair was long and fluffy, and from the last Tumblr .gif I saw, he was growing a bit of a beard. But this guy….he was clean-shaven, and his hair was cut short, with boyish bangs. Bangs like the ones the producers of _Supernatural _had made Jared cut off after season 1 to look more mature. This guy….he also lacked Jared's mature face. He looked…younger. To be specific, he looked exactly how young Jared looked when he first played Sam on season 1 of _Supernatural. _The facial features, the body, the voice, all screamed Jared. But Jared hadn't looked like this for nine years.

"Who are you?" I asked, having an idea but immediately discarding it as crazy.

"I'm Sam," the man-who-could-not-be-Jared replied with an easygoing smile. "Sam Winchester."

"No…" I shook my head. "No, no you can't be. Sam….Sam doesn't exist."

"Excuse me?" said the man, looking at me in bewilderment. "Of course I exist. I've existed since May 2, 1983 to be exact," he said with a chuckle.

May 2, 1983, as I'd known, as a _Supernatural _fangirl, for the longest time, was Sam Winchester's date of birth. But that would mean….

"No. No. There's no way this is real. You're not real." I was standing up now, backing away. This was a dream. It had to be….right? I wound up backing right into the bench, knocking it over and tumbling to the ground. It hurt when I hit the sidewalk. I noticed my scraped hand was bleeding.

You can't hurt and bleed in dreams. But that would mean….this was reality.

"You're really Sam Winchester?" I asked, still internally wondering how this was possible. "As in, _the _Sam Winchester?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said with a quizzical raise of his brow. "Do I…know you?"

"No," I said quickly. "But, uh, I know you. Well I don't really _know _you, but, you know what I mean…Oh, wait, of course you don't know what I mean. Because this makes no sense. How are you real? You can't be real." Then I looked at Jessica, and my heart sank. "If you're really her, then….oh no. Oh my god. You have to get out of here, tonight!"

"Get out? What are you talking about? Who are you?" Jessica said, starting to get agitated.

"That doesn't matter right now," I said. "What matters is that you're going to die!"

Dean, Sam's brother, my not-so-secret fictional crush (who….might not be so fictional after all?) was going to come to Sam's apartment tonight and tell him that their father, John, was missing. Sam was going to go with him to investigate, and when he came back, he was going to find…..Well, it was one of the most iconic scenes in the whole series.

Jessica, pinned to the ceiling by unseen forces, her stomach slit and dripping red blood as, suddenly, she screams and bursts into flames. And dies. Oh crap. Jessica was real, and she was about to die. I had to warn her!

"Did you just say I'm going to die?"

"Yes!" I cried frantically. "You're in danger!"

"You're insane," Jessica dismissed me. "Insane, or just really wasted. Either way, you don't know what you're talking about."

I suddenly realized how I must sound to her- a stranger she found passed out on a bench, suddenly rambling about her imminent death. I sounded like an absolute lunatic. But I knew I was right.

"Sam, please, you have to listen to me," I begged. "Come on, we both know you've been having nightmares for a week in which you find Jessica dead, on your ceiling, and…."

Sam's eyes widened. I knew he was probably wondering how I knew that. Sam's psychic abilities wouldn't be completely explained until later in the season. He himself wasn't aware of them….at this point, he'd assumed that the dreams were just that. Dreams. He'd later blame himself, told himself he should have realized earlier that they were actually _warnings. _

But apparently, despite what I'd just said, he was still in denial. "Get away from my girlfriend." he told me coldly. "Get away from me. You're a really sick person, you know that, whoever you are? Walking up to people you don't even know and telling them they're going to die. What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Sammy, please," I pleaded. "You _know _I'm right."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Nobody calls me Sammy except my brother."

"Sam, listen to me…."

"I'm going to say this one more time," Sam growled. "Go. Away. Or so help me, I'll call the police. Come on, Jess," he said, and walked away with her towards the bar.

Unbelievable. This was not happening. He wasn't going to listen to me. Neither of them were. _Well, I can't do anything to help him if I'm in jail. _ I decided. So I walked away and wandered across the campus until I found a building I recognized as Sam's apartment.

"I guess I'll just wait here then," I chose. I hid in the bushes for what must have been hours until I saw Sam and Jess return from the party. I stayed hidden, watching the lights go out inside the house as they went to sleep. I knew that Dean would show up soon, waking Sam up, telling him that their father had gone missing.

_Oh my god, _I thought. _Dean. If this is reality….that means I'm actually going to meet him. The character I've squeed over for almost ten years now. _

But it wasn't as if I could just run up and hug him, I realized. In this world, I might know everything about him, but he had never seen me before. Heck, he'd probably shoot me if I tried.

I still wasn't sure if I was ready to except that this was real. But if Dean showed up right when I expected him to, how would I be able to deny it anymore?

I'm not sure how, but somehow, as I was waiting for my hero to show up and for my entire concept of reality to change, I fell asleep. I only woke up when I heard the sound of a car pulling out of the driveway. The car was a Chevy Impala….Dean's car. I only caught a glimpse of the driver as it sped away, but….Holy. Crap. It looked _exactly _like Dean.

_OK, _I decided. _I guess that's it, then. I'm living in the world of __**Supernatural. **_

That was hard enough to digest. What was far harder was the realization that the boys had just left on a hunt…and I'd missed them. There was no way for me to catch up to the car now. I was stuck here. All I could do was wait for them to come back tomorrow.

_Tomorrow. _I realized. _Tomorrow, Jessica is going to die._

Before I even knew what I was doing, I was banging on Sam and Jessica's front door. "Jessica, open up!" I cried. "I have to warn you!"

Jessica opened the door, eyes narrowed. "You again," she barked. "Seriously, who the hell are you?"

"My name's Kelley," I explained. "And, listen to me, if you don't leave town before tomorrow night, you're going to be murdered."

"Is that a threat?" Jessica shrieked.

"What?" I gasped. "No!"

"Are you saying you're going to kill me or something?"

"No, that's not what I'm trying to say at all!" I protested. "You're going to be attacked by a….a…."

"A what, exactly, you fruitcake?" Jess grumbled. She looked like she was getting ready to call the cops on me. Not that I didn't understand why. But how was I supposed to explain what I knew was going to happen to her? I couldn't just say that demons were going to come after her. Even if it was the truth. Because then I'd _really _sound like a nutjob.

There was no way I could get her to believe me, I realized, feeling sick. There was no way I could get her to leave the apartment where I knew she was going to get killed. "I….I'm sorry," I stammered, before turning and running in the other direction. I was choking back tears. This….couldn't be.

I knew what was going to happen to her, and it didn't look like I'd be able to do anything about it. I had no proof.

_But what if I could get some? _I wondered, and headed to the campus library. I immediately began looking for books about demons, some piece of evidence I could show Jess to make her get the hell out of dodge. Maybe a text mentioning that thunderstorms and cattle mutilations, both of which had been in the news lately, were harbingers of demonic activity. Maybe just a book on how to protect yourself against demons, so I could draw a protective sigil on the apartment without her knowing. I kept looking and looking, only stopping occasionally to eat and nap. I kept finding a bunch of nothing.

Then, suddenly, I woke up with a start and realized I'd fallen asleep in the library at some point during my demon research. Hoping to find a clock tower that could tell me the time, I started wandering down the street. I found myself in front of Sam and Jess' apartment again. I hid in the bushes again when I heard voices coming closer.

One belonged to Jess. "Yeah, I'm afraid Sam's out of town right now," she was explaining to…someone.

A male voice replied cheerfully, "Ah, that's ok. I just need to come inside for a minute, so I can look for the textbook I think I left here when we were studying the other day."

"I can go in and get it for you. Bring it out to you," Jess suggested.

"No, I'd rather come in and look for it myself," the man insisted.

"OK," Jess finally agreed. "If that's what you want, Brady."

_Brady?! _I remembered that name. It was the name of one of Sam's friends, who a demon had possessed. Specifically, the demon that was supposed to kill Jessica.

_Don't let him in, Jessica! _I wanted to scream. I wanted to do something, anything, to save this innocent woman, but I just stood there in my hiding place, shaking. I'd seen what demons could do. I was terrified that if I revealed myself, Brady would kill me, too.

When I heard the door of the apartment slam shut, I took off running. I ran down the street, through the Stanford campus, and then out, out into the road. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was thinking that if I could find Sam and Dean, they could do something to stop this from happening.

I spotted the unmistakable Impala at a gas station down the street, and my hopes soared. I started running towards the car, but then I noticed: Dean was sitting at the pump by himself. Sam wasn't with him. That meant Dean had already dropped Sam off. Frantic, I started running back towards Sam's apartment. I'd seen Dean twice from a distance and still hadn't been able to meet him. I guessed I'd have to wait a little longer. My sneakers slapped against the pavement as I ran towards Sam's place.

When I got there, it was too late. The building was already on fire. And that meant Jessica Moore was already dead. I sunk to my knees, not caring that they'd surely get scraped. I hadn't been able to change anything. I was a coward. Pathetic. Why was I here? What had brought me here, and for what purpose? Just to torture me and make me watch as all my favorite characters died?

Suddenly Dean was rushing past me into the burning building. I don't think he even saw me. His sole focus was on his brother. I continued to sit there, sobbing, unnoticed, for what seemed like forever.

Then suddenly Dean emerged again with a struggling, screaming Sam. "Jessica!" he was crying, over and over. "Jess! No! NO!"

We were all standing there when fire trucks surrounded the building.

Then, Sam's eyes fell on me. "You!" he cried. He recognized me! He must have remembered how I'd tried to tell him yesterday what was going to happen. "I…I tried to tell you, Sam," I sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried to warn you…."

Now, Dean was looking at me. "Sammy, who is this chick?" he asked.

"I….I don't know her name," Sam choked out in between hysterics. "She came up to me, she _told _me yesterday Jessica was going to die….Why didn't I listen to her?" He looked at me again. "Why didn't I listen to you? What are you, a clairvoyant? Do you see the future?"

"Uh…" This was a far easier explanation than 'You're a television show, and I'm your biggest fan, and now suddenly you exist and I'm living in season 1, which I've already watched so I already know what's going to happen', so….I went with it. I found myself nodding. "Yes, I see the future."

"This girl told you this was going to happen?" Dean blinked in shock, looking from me to Sam, then back to me. "A girl walks up to you and makes a prediction that your girlfriend is going to die…You think that's something you may have wanted to _tell_ me, Sammy?"

Sam looks at me, and I can tell, amidst his grief and shock, he's wondering if I'm going to tell Dean that he'd been having dreams about this same event. I don't.

Instead, I look into the eyes of the boys I have idolized for so long, and I say, "My name is Kelley. I think I was sent here to help you."

"Help us?" Dean repeats. "Help us how?" I can tell that he's suspicious of me. It's IC for him, but it hurts.

"Sam wants to hunt with you now." I reveal. "He wants to find Jessica's killer."

Dean looks back to Sam. "Is that right, Sammy?" he asks.

"Yes," Sam confesses miserably. "Yes, that's what I want to do."

"OK, Psychic Girl," Dean says, looking straight at me. "Predict me this: Are we going to gank this son of a bitch? If we start looking for this thing, are we going to find it, and if we do, are we going to win?"

"Yes," I nod.

"Well, then," Dean decides. "Since you know so much about it, you better come with us."

My heart skips a beat. "Are….are you serious?"

Dean nods, and I watch Sam, desperately angry, throw a shotgun into the trunk. He doesn't even look at me as he says that famous line that I already know ends this episode:

"We have a lot of work to do."

I know this line. But I never knew that it could be possible that in this world, or hallucination, or nightmare, or whatever it is I'm living in right now– that that work would become mine to do, too.

But now I'm here. And, in hindsight, I'm starting to think maybe I never should have wished to be part of this world, after all.

Then, it suddenly occurs to me that the most vital part of the "work" ahead, in Dean's mind, is going to be finding their dad, John. But I also know that by the end of the season, John Winchester will be dead.

I have a million questions, but the one most pressing on my mind right now is _How the hell am I supposed to tell him that? _

**END CHAPTER 1**

**Author's Note: I've never written a self-insert before. Normally, I think they suck. I've tried to make this one as realistic and un-Mary Sue as possible. This chapter was almost 5,000 words…I think that's a lot more effort than most self-insert writers usually put in, don't you think? Lol How do you think I'm doing so far? Don't forget to review and let me know! ^_^**

**Until next time, may you always have enough salt.**

**-Storychan**


	2. Chapter 2: Wendigo

Hindsight, Chapter 2

By: Storychan

**Thank you to KeepCalmAndDoItLikeAFangirl for your review, and thank you to everyone who followed and favorite this story !**

**I'm sorry I didn't update sooner. But now I've got the transcript from season 1, episode 2 ("Wendigo") printed in one hand and a Snickers in the other, so I'm ready to write! **

**I promise I won't let Kelley become a Mary Sue. She's based on myself and I'm fully aware that myself can be pretty derpy sometimes lol. **

**Wow, this chapter wound up being REALLY long! Seriously, over 6,000 words. That's literally the longest chapter I've ever written of ANYTHING. 0_o I'm sorry….but hopefully the quality of my writing will make it worth it! I stayed up til 4:30 AM writing this…I guess that shows how dedicated (or just how much of a fangirl -_-) I am. **

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

**-Storychan**

For about a week, they dump me at a motel and try to search for clues on their own. They'd prefer to find the thing that killed Jessica without my help, because they don't trust me. I could be a demon for all they know, leading them astray. I understand why they're doing this. They're probably debating when I'm not there on whether to trust me or kill me. It's the most logical thing, but I won't pretend it doesn't hurt. When I fantasized about myself existing in the _Supernatural _universe, I'd always pictured Sam and Dean immediately liking me and offering to let me hunt with them, but that's not how real life works, is it?

It's funny how I say real life, because this shouldn't be real. Yet somehow, it all is. Another reality I was going to have to face? Even if they chose to let me hunt with them, I wouldn't know how. I wasn't like some of my friends, who were born and raised in the rural South, where my college was located, and could shoot a possum from a mile away. My parents were very pro-gun control and I'd never even seen a gun in real life. As for other weapons, I wasn't familiar with any of them, either. And whatever force had brought me to this world hadn't given me convenient psychic powers or anything like that. The Winchesters _thought _I was a psychic because I knew their future, but the true reason I knew was just because I watched too much TV. I was just a couch potato, weak and ineffective. I hadn't been able to anything for Jessica. And to be honest, I spent most of my week just sitting around crying about that.

Why was I here? I wondered that constantly. I hoped Sam and Dean would choose to trust me so I could at least _try _to help them. Yet the possibility crossed my mind that the "shoot first, ask questions later" Dean, whose approval I craved, would decide I was too suspicious and be rid of me.

But when I thought about it, I knew that, sooner or later, they would come back and admit that they hadn't found Jessica's killer. That was a foregone conclusion. I also knew that I was their only lead. It would probably take them a while to trust me, but they would figure out quickly that they needed me.

Or, at least, that's how they'd see it. I already knew they'd find the demon responsible for all this and kill it, even if I wasn't here. But _they_ didn't know that, and it didn't serve my ends to tell them.

After 7 days, Dean burst in the door of the Motel Palo Alto, where I'd been puzzling all this out, grabbed me by the arm, and said gruffly, "Get in the car. We're leaving."

"Where are we going?" I asked, but I already knew the answer: Lost Creek National Forest, just outside of Grand Junction, Colorado. Why? Because while I was pointlessly trying to convince Jessica to run for her life, Dean was going through the stuff John left in the motel where he was staying right before he went missing. That was where he found a note that said "DEAN 35-111". Those numbers were coordinates to Lost Creek, and Dean was going to follow them because he believed they would lead him to John. I knew they wouldn't. They were just going to lead him on a hunt for a kind of monster called a wendigo.

For a second, I planted my feet in the ground and refused to move. I wanted to tell Dean that he wasn't going to find John in Colorado. I wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up. More than anything, I wanted to tell him that I knew exactly where he _would_ find John.

But then I thought about Tommy Collins. That was a teenager that Dean was going to save from the wendigo in Colorado. I knew that by now Tommy had already been snatched from his tent and dragged to the monster's lair. If I told Dean that John wasn't in Colorado, he wouldn't go. And then Tommy would die, because nobody would be there to save him.

I also knew that in season 8, even if we went to Colorado and saved him today, Tommy Collins was going to die. The demon Crowley was going to kill him as part of a bizarre vow to kill every person Sam and Dean had ever saved, in order, until they agreed to his demands.

In other words, if we went to Colorado now, Tommy would only live seven years longer than if I just told Dean right now where John was hiding. Was it worth it? Tommy was going to die anyway, but if I changed history and we got to John now, maybe John wouldn't die. Maybe Dean might be happier in the long run.

I thought about it, but then the words of Professor Richardson, my favorite teacher at the college I'd been attending until I got sucked into this horrifying world, sprung into my mind. "If you wouldn't let someone die who is standing right in front of you, you shouldn't let the same person die just because you aren't there to see it happen, or because it's done indirectly." He was talking about a psychology experiment in which people were told to electrocute someone they couldn't see, but his words really fit the ethical dilemma was faced with now. I always laughed when he said someday his class could save a life. I never thought I would actually be in a position where I could choose to let someone die or not. But when it came down to it….

"What's the matter?" Dean asked, bringing me back to reality. "Are you coming, or not?"

"It's nothing," I said. "Let's go."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Sam's asleep when we get in the car. I know he's having nightmares about Jess. A wave of guilt comes over me. I hate that I couldn't do anything for him. We drive in silence for awhile, but before Sam wakes up, Dean takes the opportunity to talk to me.

"So…you're a psychic, Kelley?"

"That's right," I lie.

"But….you're human?"

"You can test me with salt and silver and holy water and whatever else you want if you don't believe me."

"I already did. When you were asleep last night."

I'm a bit creeped out by this, but I understand. How many monsters had I seen try to deceive these boys?

"I'm not your enemy, Dean." I swear. "Would I have warned Sam about Jessica if I didn't want to help you?"

"I know you want to help," Dean replies, shifting uneasily in the driver's seat. "When I snuck in to test you last night, I heard you….whimpering."

"What are you talking about?"

"You were thrashing around, moaning…..It was obvious that you were having nightmares, Kelley. You kept muttering something….It sounded like 'I have to stop it from happening'...What is it you're here to stop?"

I suddenly remembered what images had been flashing through my head as I slept last night. The Yellow-Eyed Demon possessing John, injuring him. The boys driving towards the hospital to get him help. A semi-truck, its driver possessed as well, ramming into the Impala. Dean, unconscious in his seat, head dripping red blood. Then slowly dying as the machines try to breathe for him at the hospital. John selling his soul to the Yellow-Eyed Demon, choosing to trade his life for Dean's. Dean, waking up cured only to watch his father die. That was how season 1 of _Supernatural _ended. That was how this year was going to end, if I didn't, couldn't, change anything. How was I supposed to explain all this to Dean? How was I supposed to tell him that after he found John – the only thing he cared about right now- that he was going to lose him so fast? _Maybe it won't come to pass, _I thought. _Maybe I'm here to change history. But what if I can't? I mean, even if I save John, does that mean Dean will die? What's the point? _

"I don't know," I confess. "I don't know why I was sent here."

"Sent?" Dean blinks. "Sent by who?"

"I don't know that either." I admit with a frown. "I'm sorry. I don't know why, or by who, or for what purpose, but I was sent here for you."

"Why me?" Dean replies. "I'm just an average guy. What's so important about me?"

"You're anything but average, Dean," I chuckle. "I mean, you're a hunter!"

"There are lots of hunters out there. Why was some random clairvoyant chick sent to me?"

"Well…." I think about this. "You're going to save the world."

"I…..what now? How am I supposed to do that?"

"You'll find out," I say as vaguely as possible. _That's not until season 5, after all._

"Is there anything you _can _tell me?" Dean asks, getting frustrated. "Like, can you tell me where my dad is, or what killed Jessica, or how to gank it?"

"All I can tell you," I sigh, "Is that you'll know all of those things by the end of the year."

"Fine then," Dean rolls his eyes. "I can tell you know more than you're letting on, but if you won't tell me now, I guess all I can do is keep you with me until you feel like talking." I cast a nervous glance in his direction. "I'm not going to interrogate you," he clarifies. "Not like how you're thinking. I don't hurt little human girls."

"Little?" I smirk.

"How old are you?" Dean asks. "Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"I'm actually twenty," I reply. "People always assume I'm younger."

"Twenty? Really?" Dean grins. "Only eight years younger than me. Never would've guessed you were, y'know, legal." I find myself flushing, and then Sam wakes up. Dean offers to let him drive, and Sam swears he's ok, then unfurls a map and starts staring at it, ignoring me completely. _Not that I blame him, _I think. _I introduced myself to him by telling him his girlfriend would die, and then she did. It makes sense why he wouldn't even want to look at me._

"Where are we?" he asks Dean.

"Just outside of Grand Junction," Dean replies.

"Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon," Sam frowns.

"Sam, we dug around there for a week," Dean argues. "If we want to find what killed Jessica…"

"We have to find Dad first," Sam finishes. I know they're not going to find him for awhile, so I'm glad that from where I'm sitting I can't see the hopefulness in their eyes. I hear Dean say, "Dad will know what to do," and I almost jump up and tell him the truth, that it's not going to be that simple. Instead, I keep my mouth shut until we pull up to the ranger's station, then walk in quietly behind them. Dean tells the park ranger that the three of us are environmental studies majors from UC Boulder.

"Bull," the ranger assesses. "You're looking for that Haley girl, aren't you?" I already know that Haley is Tommy's sister, but Dean doesn't, but he can tell she's important, so he lies and says we're friends of hers.

"Well I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?"

_But he IS missing, _I think to myself. Somehow, Dean secures a copy of the permit, and we walk out of there without the ranger calling the cops on us or worse.

"Are you cruising for a hookup or something?" Sam asks bluntly. "The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?"

I'd almost forgotten, with all the episodes in season 1 that focused on stopping the monster of the week, that that was never Sam's primary objective. All he cared about was finding John.

"Maybe when we find Dad, he can tell us if he knows anything about why Kelley is here," Sam adds.

"Dude, she's standing right there," Dean points out, hazarding a glance at me. I glare at Sam. "Finally remembered I exist, huh, Sammy?" I grumble.

"Don't call me Sammy," Sam snaps. "Only Dean gets to do that."

"Look, what happened at Stanford isn't my fault," I complain, although I'm not sure I really believe it. "I tried to help you. I'm still trying to help you. And I say we go talk to Haley."

"You don't get a vote," Sam replies coldly. I'm not really angry with the way he's treating me. He just lost the woman he loved, and he associates me in his head with that incident. I want him to trust me, but I know that earning that will take effort.

"I agree with Kelley," Dean speaks up. "I mean, I want to find Dad, too, but I also want to know what I'm walking in to. I mean, since when are you all 'shoot first, ask questions later'?"

"Since now," Sam snips.

"Really?" Dean questions, and we all get back into the car and drive to Haley's house.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

When we get there, Dean immediately lies to Haley that he and Sam are park rangers. "And, uh, she's an intern at the department," he adds, pointing to me. I definitely don't look old enough to be a full ranger. Besides, I'm the only one Dean doesn't have a fake Park Services ID for.

Haley raises an eyebrow, but lets us in. She and her brother, Ben, explain that they haven't heard from Tommy in three days, and how unusual that is for him. Dean tells them that he'll find their brother. Haley reveals that she plans on searching for him herself, and agrees to forward Sam the last video Tommy sent her.

From there, Sam, Dean, and I drive to a bar to discuss the case. As we walk through the door, Dean stops me. "Are you sure you're old enough to be in a place like this?" he asks me.

I roll my eyes. "I'm not twenty-one yet, so I can't drink, but there's no law that says I can't walk in and sit there with you." I pause, and look away. "Unless you don't _want _me in there with you. If you don't trust me enough to talk about the case with me there…."

"You already know about as much as we do," Dean says. "If not more. So, I don't really see the point of hiding it from you. I mean, you say you want to help us, right?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then let's go," Dean suggests, and we walk in. "Bartender, get the little girl some milk, okay?" he laughs.

"S-shut up," I say, but I'm not really upset. It seems like Dean is starting to accept me as an ally. Now if only Sam would do the same….

When we get to the table, Sam immediately pulls out his laptop, still not saying anything to me. "So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found," he reveals.

"Any before that?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack. And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936." Sam replies, then pulls up a video on the screen. "Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork. Okay. Watch this. Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out." He slows the video down, and we can clearly see a shadow moving across the screen. I'm already aware that it's a wendigo. Sam explains that it moved three frames in a fraction of a second. He then adds that in the '59 "grizzly attack", there was one survivor. I know that's who we're visiting next.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The survivor, an old man named Shaw, reports that the thing that attacked him moved too fast to see, made a sound like no man or animal he'd ever heard, and, most interestingly, was smart enough to open a door.

When we leave, Dean wonders aloud if the culprit could be a skinwalker, or a black dog. I know he's wrong, but choose to not correct him, because I know he'll figure it out soon enough. We grab some weapons out of the trunk.

"We can't let that Haley girl go out there," Sam comments. I already knew that he was going to say that. It's dangerous for anyone to be out there right now. But what he says next surprises me. "Kelley shouldn't come with us either."

"Why not?" I ask, staring him down.

"Do you even know how to shoot?" Sam questions. I'm forced to shake my head. "You'll just be a liability," he dismisses me.

"Why do you care what happens to me?" I ask. "You don't know me. You don't seem to like me. If I get hurt, what does that matter to you?"

Sam's eyes widen, and for the first time since I've met him, his expression softens. "I don't want anyone else around me to die," he says sadly. "I don't want to be unable to protect you, too." I frown. I know he's thinking about Jess.

"I should've listened to you, Kelley," Sam says miserably. "You _told _me what was going to happen, you _warned _me, and I didn't listen to you. You're not the one who screwed up here, you're not the one I should blame. The only one I should blame is myself." I notice that Sam is shaking. He sounds like he's trying not to cry. I realize now that I'm not the one he's truly angry at.

"I don't think you're to blame, either, Sammy," I say, placing a supportive hand on his arm and looking him in the eye. "The one you should blame is the thing that killed her. I'm telling you right now that we are going to find that son of a bitch, and we are going to avenge Jessica, alright? I _know _that we will."

"You know a lot of things, don't you?" Sam asks, looking bewildered, but somewhat comforted. "Still, you should know not to call me Sammy." He half-smiles as he says this, and for the first time since I got here, I feel like I've made a difference.

Dean clears his throat. I think the two of us forgot he was there. "Let's focus on the here and now," he says. "We can't tell Haley she can't go to Blackwater Ridge because of some big scary monster. Her brother's missing, Sam. She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend."

"Finding Dad isn't enough?" Sam gripes. "Now we have to babysit, too?" He's mostly talking about Haley, but he looks straight at me as he says it.

"Unlike Haley," Dean says, taking note of this, "Kelley knows what we're up against." He looks at me. "Have you ever used a knife before?" he asks, offering a small silver dagger to me.

"Like to….hurt people?" I gulp. I'm suddenly nervous.

"No, huh?" Dean shakes his head. "I guess maybe that's a good thing. But, still….stabbing's pretty self-explanatory. My plan is to protect you, like Haley. I want you with us, because I'm betting you know something that can help us. Hopefully, you won't have to do any of the fighting yourself. But just in case, if something does happen…." He forces the dagger into my palm. "I'm pretty sure you can figure out what to do with this."

I eye the dagger uncertainly. _I might actually have to kill something. _Hunting always sounded cool, but now that it's something I may have to truly do – now that I'll really be putting myself at risk of injury, even death, as well – I find that I'm scared.

"It's not going to bite you," Dean says softly. "Hell, it's what you use to _stop _things from biting you."

I know he's right. If I want to survive long in this strange new world, I need to be brave. I stick the dagger through my belt loop and prepare for my first hunt.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We meet Haley, Ben, and their hiking guide, Roy, the next day. Roy immediately suggests Ben should stay home, where it's safe. Ben refuses, and then we ask to join their rescue team. Haley is suspicious. So is Roy.

"You're rangers?" he asks.

"That's right," Dean lies.

"And you're hiking in biker boots and jeans?" Haley snorts. She looks me over. "And in your case, a Hello Kitty T-shirt?" I look down at myself. I forgot I was wearing that. It was what I'd had on when I was teleported into this universe. All my other clothes were back in the "real world". But then, I could sleep, eat, dream, feel in this world, just like I could in my own. Could I really say it wasn't just as real?

"Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts," Dean smirks.

"And what's wrong with Hello Kitty?" I add, hoping my attitude will make me look a little more intimidating than my shirt does.

"You think you're funny?" Roy growls. "It's dangerous backcountry out there, her brother might be hurt."

_He's definitely hurt, _I reflect. _I know for a fact that he just woke up in the wendigo's lair and watched the guy he was camping with get eaten. I also know he's next. I know better than all of you how much danger I'm putting myself in. But I've already decided that I can't let Tommy die. There's no turning back now. _

"Believe me," Dean says seriously. "I know how dangerous it can be. We just want to help her find her brother, that's all."

Roy accepts this answer, and so, with that, we set out.

Dean almost walks into a bear trap. Haley's suspicions finally boil over. "You didn't pack any provisions!" she cries. "You're carrying duffel bags! You guys are not Rangers! So who the hell are you?"

For once, Dean is caught in a lie. "Sam and I are brothers, and we're looking for our father. He might be here, we don't know. I just figured that you and me, we're in the same boat."

"Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?" Haley queries.

"I'm telling you now. 'sides, it's probably the most honest I've ever been with a woman. ...ever. So we okay?"

Haley pauses. "Yeah, okay." Then she looks at me. "But what's her story?"

"I'm here to help them," I inform her.

"Why?" Haley demands.

"Because they're my friends." Sam and Dean turn around and look at me as soon as those words come out of my mouth. They were both suspicious of me at first, but….

"We are friends….aren't we?" I plead. They were my favorite characters in my world. My heroes. Now they're the only people I know in this world. If they truly don't like me, I'm not sure if I can stand it.

"Yeah," Dean smiles. "We're friends." A smile blooms on my face. Despite everything that has happened since I got here, I'm truly happy now. _I'm the Winchesters' friend! _Maybe I'm just a stupid fangirl, but I start thinking that makes everything worth it.

"And what do you mean, I didn't pack provisions?" Dean grins at Haley, and holds up a bag of peanut M&M's. That line made me crack a smile when I saw it on TV, and it makes me even happier in real – if you can call this real – life.

_I love this guy, _I think happily, as we walk further towards the lair of the beast.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

When we reach Tommy's campsite, we find the tents torn open and bloody and the supplies scattered everywhere. I saw this coming, but Haley quickly becomes hysterical, muttering her brother's name over and over. We follow the trail the bodies left as they were dragged away, but the tracks stop abruptly beneath a tree. A cell phone rings. It's Tommy's, and it's covered in blood. Haley starts crying.

"He could still be alive," Dean reminds her.

Suddenly, a voice calls out from the trees. "HELP!"

"Tommy?!" Haley shrieks, and suddenly everyone's running off in different directions.

"Wait!" I call after Dean, and follow him. I know this is the voice of the wendigo, trying to deceive us. But by the time everyone has calmed down, before I can tell them that, all our supplies are missing, including our phones and Roy's GPS.

"It's smart," Sam realizes. "It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help."

"You mean some nutjob just stole all our gear?" Roy screams.

Sam approaches me and Dean. "I need to speak with you two," he whispers. "In private."

We move off a little ways from the rest of the group.

"Let me see Dad's journal," Sam requests. Dean complies, and Sam immediately opens it to a page depicting a picture of a wendigo. _Finally, _I meditate.

"Oh come on, wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or, or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west," Dean says skeptically.

"Think about it Dean," Sam persuades. "The claws, the way it can mimic a human voice…."

Dean looks to me. "Is he right? Is it a wendigo?"

I nod. He thinks it's my "ESP" showing me the way.

"How long have you known?" Dean asks.

"From the beginning," I confess.

"Do you know what these things are like, Kelley? What they can do?" Sam asks, looking concerned.

"Yeah," I say grimly.

I know he's trying to calculate in his head how I can be a human psychic girl, how I can know nothing about hunting, but know everything about monsters like wendigoes. I can't explain, but luckily I don't have to.

"Great," Dean snarks, and looks at his pistol. "Well then, this is useless."

"We have to get these people to safety," Sam decides, and then we put away the journal and head back to the group.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Listen up," Sam tells Haley, Ben, and Roy. "It's time to go. Things have gotten….more complicated."

Haley asks "What?" Roy swears he can handle it. Sam assures him that he has no idea what he's dealing with. Roy becomes belligerent. He doesn't want Sam to tell him what to do. Sam is getting frustrated, and I get the sense that if Roy keeps refusing to leave, Sam will drag him.

They look like they're about to get in a fight when Haley speaks up. "Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him."

There's a long pause, and then Dean says, "It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves."

Haley has one question: "How?"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dean draws Anasazi symbols around our campfire, for protection. Roy and the other "Muggles" are still looking at us like we're crazy. I get it. Nobody _wants _to believe in monsters. It was a lot easier for me back when this was all just a TV show.

Then, Dean walks over to Sam, and I follow him. "You want to tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?" Dean asks.

"Dean…." Sam begins, but Dean interrupts him.

"No, you're not fine. You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?"

Sam doesn't speak for awhile, but when he does, it breaks my heart a little. "Dad's not here. I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign, right?"

Dean nods. "Yeah, you're probably right. Tell you the truth, I don't think Dad's ever been to Lost Creek."

"So you're finally realizing it…" I say before I can stop myself..

Sam whirls around to face me so fast I wonder how he doesn't get whiplash. "You KNEW?" he hollers. "You knew this whole time our dad was leading us on some wild goose chase for no reason, and you didn't say anything?"

"It's not for no reason!" I protest, and Dean steps in between us and holds up John's journal.

"This is the reason," he says. He looks back at me. He seems angry too, but not at me. No, he's more disappointed. He really wanted to believe he'd find his father this easily. "Right, Kelley?" I nod, and Dean goes on, "This book. This is Dad's single most valuable possession—everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business."

It's one of the most famous quotes from the show. Hell, I have it on a T-shirt back home. If I ever get back there. I always smile every time I hear it, because it's the essence of what _Supernatural _is all about. I smile, every time except this time. Because I see how upset Sam is, and I'm scared I can't do anything about it.

"That doesn't make any sense," he sputters. "Why doesn't he just—call us? Why doesn't he—tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?"

_That's a good question, Sam. _John's beat-around-the-bush tactics were why he was always my least favorite character. Sure, the evasions were to protect his sons, but I still think he went about it the wrong way.

Dean's response didn't make me any happier. "I dunno. But the way I see it, Dad's giving us a job to do, and I intend to do it." He was always so complacent, so quick to follow any order John gave him. It was going to make it harder for me to save him. _That's what I'm supposed to do, right? _I addressed in my head a prayer to whoever sent me here. _Save these boys? Why did you choose me? I'm not strong. I'm not special. I can barely save __**myself**__. Please, just let me survive this stupid hunt. I swear I'll figure out my purpose here as long as I don't end up dead! _

"Dean...no. I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about." Sam said. That was something eating away at me, too. Seeing the anguish realizing that they weren't going to find John today caused the boys made me regret choosing to come here, to not tell Dean where I knew John really was. And now that I felt so personally responsible for not saving Jessica, I truly wanted to see her avenged, if only for the sake of my psyche.

Now that I could feel just the way Sam felt, Dean's next words of advice seemed that much more profound to me. "Okay, all right, Sam, we'll find them, I promise. Listen to me. You've gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man."

Dean was right. If I kept focusing on how much I'd screwed up so far, since I fell through my TV and woke up in this impossible reality, I was going to lose it. I knew better than anyone how long this was going to take. I had to accept that although I knew every plot twist ahead of time, I still didn't have all the answers. I had to just take discovering my mission – whatever it was – one step at a time.

"How do you do it?" Sam asked wearily. "How does Dad do it?"

Dean looked over at Haley and Ben, who were huddled around the campfire, trying to process everything that had happened. "Well, for one," he said, "Them." He continued, "I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable…..And I'll tell what else helps. Killing as many sons of bitches as I possibly can."

I smiled. But that smile quickly faded when the wendigo called out to us again, and then appeared just long enough to snap Roy's neck. Haley screamed.

I wanted – needed- to kill this wendigo now. If only to, as Dean said, make life more bearable.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dean started to explain to Haley and Ben what wendigoes were. Haley was still muttering that these kinds of things weren't supposed to be real.

"I wish I could tell you different," Dean sighed.

"How do you know about this stuff?"

"It kind of runs in the family," he explained simply, before reciting the legend:

"'Wendigo' is a Cree Indian word. It means 'evil that devours'. They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter. How do they turn into these things? Well, it's always the same. During some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp. Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality. If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less than human thing. You're always hungry."

"Then how can Tommy still be alive?" Haley asked.

"You're not gonna like it."

"Tell me," she insisted.

"More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, it stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there."

"Then how do we stop it?"

"Well guns – and that knife I gave you, Kelley – are useless. So…." Dean held up a can of lighter fluid, a beer bottle, and a white cloth that he'd picked up. "We're gonna have to torch the sucker."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Haley and I followed Dean, while Ben went with Sam. We found blood and broken branches on a certain tree….and then Roy's body fell out of it. The wendigo had killed him immediately because he pissed it off. I knew that. I saw it coming. But I screamed anyway.

And then a clawed, blood-soaked hand reached out to grab me…..

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

When I woke up, my hands were tied and I was suspended in the air. The first thing I saw was a pile of bleached white bones. My heart began to pound. I'd been caught. I was in the wendigo's lair. It was going to eat me. I was going to die.

_No! _I thought. _Don't panic. You just need to get out of here before the monster comes back._

But how was I supposed to free myself?

Luckily, I didn't have to. At that moment, Sam and Ben burst in. They'd apparently followed the M &M's Dean dropped like a trail of breadcrumbs. "Kelley!" Sam cried. "Thank goodness. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," I said as he untied me. "Where's Dean?"

"Dean!" Sam called. I heard Dean wince. He was suspended next to where I had been hanging a moment before. "Hey, you ok?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said weakly. I helped Sam untie him while Ben took care of Haley.

"You sure you're alright?"

Dean nodded. "I'm more worried about Kelley. She's never gotten almost eaten before. Right, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine," I protested, trying to be strong. Internally, I was really scared. The fact that the wendigo hadn't come back yet was the only reason I wasn't losing it.

Then, we found Tommy. He looked almost dead until he opened his eyes.

"Cut him down!" Haley pleaded, and we did. Then, Dean found our missing supplies in the corner. Among them were flare guns. "Those'll work." Dean laughed and twirled the gun in his hands. Then, we heard the wendigo's roar. "Looks like somebody's home for supper."

"Listen to me," Dean said, addressing Haley, Ben, and Tommy. "Go with Sam, he's going to get you out of here." Then, his gaze flicked toward me. "You too, Kelley."

"What?" I argued. "No, I'm not going to leave you!"

"You're a rookie," Dean put it bluntly. "You think you'll be able to save me, but you won't. I need to save you. I'm telling you to go, right now."

"But…."

"Maybe once you've had some practice, you can do something like this. But right now you're little more than a civilian, psychic or not. You need to go."

"I'll become stronger," I vowed.

"What?" Dean blinked, taken aback.

"I'll go now, because you're right, I can't save you. But this will be the last time. I will become stronger. I'll become a hunter like you who can protect people. Because I believe I was sent here to help you. So I intend to learn how to do that."

"Ok," Dean said, with a hard-to-read look that could've meant he was anything from impressed to incredulous. "I'll help you learn whatever it is you need to do. But not today. Run."

And I did. I ran with Sam and the kids and left Dean to face the monster. He wasn't afraid at all. "Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste _good_!" I heard him call out. "Hey, you want some white meat, bitch! I'm right here!" I was honestly inspired by Dean's courage. As I watched Sam aim his flare gun at the wendigo once we were a safe distance away, I thought, _I want to be more like him. _

"Kelley," Sam said, bringing me back to the here and now. "Get these guys out of here."

"No!" I disagreed. "Sam!"

Thankfully, he caught up to us. "Hurry!" he cried. We kept running. Sam stepped in front of me and the others, shielding us all.

"Hey!" Dean called, and the wendigo turned around. That was when Dean shot him in the stomach. As scared as I had been this whole time, my only thought now was _That was so epic!_

"Not bad, huh?"

Sam, Dean, and I all couldn't help but grin.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

An ambulance came to pick up Tommy, while the cops started questioning Ben. "And you say it was a bear that attacked you?" the police officer asked in disbelief. Ben stuck by that story. It was something we'd agreed on before they got there.

"I don't know how to thank you," Haley told Dean. He smiled at her lasciviously.

"Must you cheapen the moment?" she teased.

"Yeah."

She turned to get on the ambulance with Tommy, but before she left, she kissed Dean on the cheek. I felt a pang of jealousy. Dean had always been my fictional crush. But…..now he wasn't fictional anymore. I wasn't sure how to sort out how I felt about him now that I'd actually met him. I still thought he was handsome, and brave, and witty. I still wanted him. But even though we existed in the same world now, I knew Dean was a player with no interest in falling in love. I also knew that when he _did _fall in love, a few seasons from now, it would be with Lisa Braeden. Not me. _He breaks up with her eventually, though, _I told myself. What was I trying to convince myself of? That I still had a shot with him? I was already hiding so much from Dean. His father's whereabouts. The identity of Jessica's killer. The fact that I knew John would soon die. The truth behind how I knew all of these things. My feelings would just be another thing I'd have to hide, I decided. This wasn't the time for wish fulfillment. I had bigger things to worry about.

Becoming a full-fledged hunter. Saving Dean. Figuring out if saving Dean was even what I was here for.

Yeah, I had a lot on my plate. Love – hell, figuring out if that was even what I was feeling – could wait.

After everybody else left, Dean looked at Sam seriously. "You know we're going to find Dad, right?" he said.

"Of course we will," I added. "I've foreseen it." If I could give these boys anything, it was peace of mind.

"OK," Sam smiled. "But in the meantime, I'm driving."


	3. Chapter 3: Dead In The Water

Hindsight, Chapter 3

By: Storychan

**HOLY CRAP! This wound up being almost 11,600 words! Even my term paper wasn't this long! :0 But the reason it wound up that way is because I was working directly with a script from the original episode, making sure every last canon piece of dialogue was included…and then adding in Kelley's. It took me two days to finish, but I hope if you read all the way to the end, you'll agree with me that it's worth it. **

**Are you liking **_**Hindsight **_**so far? Let me know in the reviews!**

**-Storychan **

**P.S. Thanks and pie to everyone who favorited and/or followed after last chapter! Enjoy this update!**

After we leave Colorado, I realize that we have a sixteen-hour drive ahead of us, because I know where we're going: Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin, where a ghost has already drowned a victim or two. I'm not bothered by the length of time I'll be stuck in the car. Every time I go home from college for the summer, it's a ten-hour drive, so I'm used to it. I stare out the window for a while without much comment. Sam, in the seat in front of me, is napping again. Dean has his eyes on the road and "Little Lies" playing on the radio in the background when suddenly we stop. We're at a strip mall, and it hasn't been anywhere close to sixteen hours yet. "Are we stopping for food?" I ask.

"No," Dean replies. "We're stopping for you."

"Me?" I repeat. "What about me? What did I do?"

"Have you got any other clothes than that stupid Hello Kitty crap?" Dean asks, pointing to the outfit I've been wearing for days now. It's starting to smell. I'd been hoping our motel in Wisconsin would have a laundry room so I could do something about it.

"Hello Kitty isn't crap," I defend. "She's a valuable piece of global pop culture!"

"Uh-huh," Dean shrugs, before launching into a question I was definitely not prepared for: "Where do you live, Kelley?"

It should have been a simple question. If this were my world, I could rattle off a street address in seconds. But this was _Supernatural _world. Who could say if, in this universe, there was that same house on that same street? It was possible my whole neighborhood didn't exist here. Even if it did, I didn't live there. Maybe there was some Other Kelley who did, I didn't know. But even if I did have a doppelganger, this was still 2005. In _actual _2005, I'd been eleven years old. I'd started watching _Supernatural _when I was sixteen – seen a random episode of season 5 when I was flipping channels, then gone back and watched the first four seasons – and the half of the fifth I'd missed – in time to catch up before the new season started. So even if my house existed, and I showed up to it, and AU versions of myself and my family lived there…I would still just meet a sixth-grader version of myself who had no idea who Dean was or how to help me. Which was a paradox I didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole. So I found myself responding to Dean's question with confused silence. I couldn't tell him the truth, could I? That I came from an alternate-universe 2014, and that was where my _real _home was? What was I supposed to say? I struggled to invent a plausible lie.

"It's ok," Dean interrupted. "I think I've figured it out."

"You….have?" I blinked.

"You don't have a home, do you?" Dean guessed. "Or belongings? If you did, you would've brought clothes, at least, with you when you came to find me. And you would've gotten some frantic phone call by now. You say you were sent to help me, but a girl can't just leave her whole life behind because some psychic vision told her to without her family freaking out. Not unless there's no family to miss her."

_Oh, _I realized. _He thinks I'm an orphan drifter…like he'll be soon enough. _

I chose not to correct him. I felt kind of bad, pretending to have a tragic past that never really happened. I mean, I did have a family. Just…not here. For the first time, I wondered what was happening back home. My roommates must have realized I was missing right now. They probably called the cops, who most likely notified my parents. It occurred to me, with a wave of tears I had to choke back, that they probably all thought I was dead. Kidnapped, or something like that. It would never occur to them in a million years that I'd fallen through a portal to a TV-show universe. That was…insane. I wish I could tell my _Supernatural _fangirl friends I was sitting with Dean right now. But more than that, I wished I could tell them I was ok. I could picture them crying their eyes out over me. I wondered if I'd ever see them again.

Dean saw the sad look in my eyes and decided not to pry, for which I was thankful. I didn't want to keep lying to him, but I had no choice. Or, perhaps it wasn't a total lie. I didn't have a home in _this _world. Changing the subject, I asked, "What are we doing here?"

"Buying you some new clothes," Dean explained. "Toiletries, too. And a phone, to contact us if something's after you and we get separated. Everything you need to take care of yourself while you're working with us." I felt extraordinarily grateful. I hadn't even thought about how I'd left all those kinds of things behind when I'd been zapped into this world with only the shirt on my back. However…"Can you really afford all this?" I had to ask. I knew that since hunting, Dean's "full-time" job, was something he did for free, what little money he made came from hustling pool and credit card fraud. Whether I wanted to pay for things with cash gotten so disreputably was another thing I had to consider.

"I can't just let you go without necessities like that," Dean noted. "Cost doesn't matter, it has to be done if you're staying with us." Which of course I was. Dean grinned. "Gotta get you some fake IDs, too – FBI, CDC, Marshals, Rangers, cops – all our usual aliases. And hey, maybe as a favor I'll make you a year older, too, so you can drink with us."

"No way!" I protested. "And it's not a year anyway, it's…" I hesitated. When I'd left my world, it had been March, meaning my birthday was four months away. But in this world, it was November- meaning I wouldn't turn twenty-one for…. "Eight months." _Crap. What a long ways away. _Or should I have lied and said my birthday was in March, four months from our current date? Either way, I was technically going to turn twenty-one eight years early…right? _Ow…my head. _ Switching universes had thrown my whole concept of time out of whack.

"Whatever," Dean shrugged. "But why're you so against going ahead and saying you're twenty-one now? Nobody'll know."

"Because it's illegal!" I protested.

"You're already going to be breaking the law by posing as a federal agent," Dean pointed out. "Why not have a little _fun _while you're at it?"

"Thanks, but I'll wait," I decided.

"You're weird," Dean assessed, but got out of the car and dragged me into the store anyway, without further argument. I could have sworn he was smiling.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

It was only when we stopped at a diner that night – and Dean paid for my meal, which made me feel awkward and guilty for giving him another mouth to feed, but what was I supposed to do about it?- that I realized Dean didn't know we were going to Wisconsin yet. He pulled a newspaper out as soon as we sat down, which told me was still in the case-finding stage. I knew exactly what headline he was about to read: "The Carlton family is sad to announce the death of their beloved daughter in a tragic swimming accident. Sophie Carlton, 18, of Lake Manitoc, WI, was…."

A waitress who I worried was prettier than me strolled over and interrupted, asking if she could get us anything else. Dean looked up at her and grinned around the pen he was chewing adorably, and I cast my eyes down at my plate so he wouldn't see the jealous face I couldn't help making. Sam requested the check, and she walked away to go get it.

"You know, Sam, we are allowed to have fun once in a while," Dean suggested, pointing to the waitress' short shorts. "That's fun."

Sam blushed. "Dean, there's a lady present," he reminded, gesturing at me with his fork. "Do you have to be so crude?"

"Hell yeah," Dean chuckled, then turned to me. "I'm not planning on hiding the way I think from you, Kelley. I'm not going to pretend for your benefit that all guys don't want one thing." He looked back at Sammy. "The sooner she learns what men are really like, the better it'll be for her in the long run."

"You say that like I'm some innocent little maiden!" I dispute.

"Well….aren't you?" Dean smirks. I ignore him, but my red face apparently gave him all the answer he needed, because he resumes telling Sam and I about the case: "Here, take a look at this, I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago."

"A funeral?" Sam parrots, confused.

"Yeah, it's weird, they buried an empty coffin. For, uh, closure or whatever."

"Closure?" Sam scoffs. "What closure? People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Something you want to say to me?"

Sam glances at me, perhaps unsure if he wants to have this argument while I'm here. But then I guess he realizes that I already know what he's going to say, anyway: "The trail for Dad. It's getting colder every day."

"Exactly," Dean agrees. "And Kelley hasn't gotten any visions about where he is…right, Kelley?" I nod. No, I haven't had any visions. I'm not really a clairvoyant. I do know where John is, though. I want to tell them, but I need to make sure they save Lucas Barr, the kid in Lake Manitoc the ghost is going to go after, first. I hate letting Sam and Dean fight when I know I could solve everything, but after I saw the wendigo kill Roy yesterday…I had nightmares about that last night. I saw a _real _mangled body fall out of a tree…In this world, that was no stuntman in makeup. Someone had actually died, and I hadn't been able to help them. I'd known it was going to happen, but I still couldn't handle it. I knew now that no matter what, I couldn't abandon anyone to death by monster. If I could do something about it, I would.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Dean asks.

"I don't know," Sam sighs. "Something. Anything."

"You know what?" Dean growls. "I'm sick of this attitude. You don't think I wanna find Dad as much as you do?"

"Yeah, I know you do," Sam concedes. "It's just…"

"I'm the one that's been with him every single day for the past two years, while you've been off to college going to pep rallies," Dean reminds bitterly. "We will find Dad. Kelley says she's already foreseen that we will."

"And you believe her?" Sam says, eyeing me suspiciously. _He still doesn't totally trust me? _ I 'm about to snap something back, but then my anger fades as quickly as it came. He's right to be suspicious. I _am _lying to him. Just not in the way that he thinks.

"Yeah, I do," Dean says, bristling. I'm relieved – and surprised - that I've earned his trust, at least. Or maybe he just desperately wants to believe what I'm saying because it's what he wants to hear. He continues, "But until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there. Okay?"

Sam rolls his eyes, but complains no further, saying, "Alright! Lake Manitoc! Hey!"

"Huh?" Dean asks, surprised by his change of heart.

"How far?" Sam asks, and then the actual sixteen-hour drive I'd been anticipating commences.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

During the long drive, I listen to Dean's music, complimenting him on his taste, go with him into a few convenience stores to buy food and take bathroom breaks, watch cars and scenery go by, and, eventually, fall asleep. When I wake up after I don't know how long, Sam is calling, "We're here!", and we stop in front of a nice-looking house it occurs to me must belong to Sophie Carlton's family.

We exit the Impala and walk to the door. Dean knocks, and a man answers. "Will Carlton?" Deana asks. _Bingo. Sophie's brother. _

"Yeah, that's right," Will confirms.

"I'm Agent Ford," Dean lies. "This is Agent Hamill," he gestures to Sam, "and Agent Fisher," he says, pointing at me. The thought of having my own alias thrills me for some reason, and I get the reference. It's to _Star Wars_: Harrison Ford played Han Solo, Mark Hamill played Luke Skywalker, and Carrie Fisher played Princess Leia. I've never seen _Star Wars_, but I know that Han and Leia wind up together, so when I think of how Dean has taken Han's name, I have to suppress an immature giggle. _Don't flatter yourself, _I think rationally. _He probably only picked that name because Leia was the only major female role in the movie. _But I still feel happy. I'm on a hunt with "my" boys. For the first time, things feel exactly how I pictured they would be all the times I imagined myself as their friend. "We're with the US Wildlife Service," Dean adds, and we all flash our fake badges at him. My heart pounds for a second as I irrationally fear I'm going to get caught, even though I know Will isn't going to ask any more questions. He leads us to a dock in his backyard, where his father, Bill, is sitting with a faraway look in his eyes.

"She was about a hundred yards out," Will describes when we ask about what happened to Sophie. "That's where she got dragged down."

"And you're sure she didn't just drown?" Dean inquires.

"Yeah. She was a varsity swimmer," Will informs us. "She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as in her own bathtub."

"So no splashing?" Sam probes. "No signs of distress?"

"No. That's what I'm telling you."

"Did you see any shadows in the water?" Sam questions. "Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?"

"No," Will says certainly. "Again, she was really far out there."

"You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?" Dean wonders.

"No, never," Will insists. "Why? What do you think's out there?"

"We'll let you know as soon as we do," Dean assures him. I already know it's a ghost, and wonder if I should say so as we head back to the car.

"What about your father?" Sam asks Will before we leave. "Can we talk to him?"

"Look, if you don't mind, I mean...he didn't see anything and he's kind of been through a lot," Will sighs.

"We understand," Sam nods, and then we get in the Impala and drive away.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Our next stop is the police station. "Now, I'm sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?" the sheriff asks us.

"You sure it's accidental?" Sam asks. "Will Carlton saw something grab his sister."

"Like what?" the sheriff replies in disbelief, before leading us into his office. "Here, sit, please." We do. "There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake," he continues. "There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person, unless it was the Loch Ness Monster."

"Yeah. Right," Dean says, but I know he's actually not even discounting that possibility.

"Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks," the sheriff reasons. "Still, we dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there."

"That's weird, though," Dean reminds. "I mean, that's, that's the third missing body this year."

"I know," the sheriff says sadly. "These are people from my town. These are people I care about."

"I know," Dean says sympathetically.

"Anyway," the sheriff sighs, "All this...it won't be a problem much longer."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks.

"Well, the dam, of course," the sheriff answers with raised eyebrow.

"Of course, the dam. It's, uh, it sprung a leak," Dean guesses.

"It's falling apart, and the feds won't give us the grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway. In another six months, there won't be much of a lake. There won't be much of a town, either. But as Federal Wildlife, you already knew that," the sheriff says.

"Exactly," Dean lies. _Crap, _I consider. _I should've told him about the dam, so the sheriff didn't question our credibility! But I'd forgotten about it. I haven't seen this 'episode' in years. _I felt useless. I wasn't doing anything to help. _Should I just tell him who the culprit is, already? _I wondered, but the idea of negative butterfly effects gave me pause. _He'll figure it out soon anyway, _I decided.

Then, a knock on the door interrupted the argument I was having with myself, and a young woman walked in. "Sorry, am I interrupting?" she asked sweetly. "I can come back later."

"Gentlemen, miss, this is my daughter," the sheriff says proudly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dean," Dean says as he walks over and shakes her hand.

"Andrea Barr. Hi," the woman introduces herself.

"Hi," Dean replies with a flirtatious smile. I clear my throat. "I'm Kelley," I interrupt, not liking this.

"They're from the Wildlife Service. About the lake," the sheriff explains.

"Oh," Andrea frowns, and then a little boy walks in. I already know it's her son, who the ghost is going to try to claim as a victim soon. I'm glad we're here.

"Oh, hey there. What's your name?" Dean asks the kid. He doesn't answer.

"His name is Lucas," the sheriff responds for him. Andrea gives him some crayons.

"Is he okay?" Sam asks, concerned.

"My grandson's been through a lot," the sheriff illuminates. "We all have." He directs us to the door. "Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know." We exit the office.

"Thanks," says Dean. "You know, now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?"

"Lakefront Motel," Andrea reccomends. "Go around the corner. It's about two blocks south."

"Two—would you mind showing us?" Dean flirts. I ignore it. _It's not like __**you **__have a shot with him anyway, _I remind myself. _Stop behaving like a jealous girlfriend. He doesn't owe you anything. _

"You want me to walk you two blocks?" Andrea laughs.

"Not if it's any trouble," Dean says gallantly.

"I'm headed that way anyway," Andrea tells him. "I'll be back to pick up Lucas at three," she warns her father. "We'll go to the park, okay, sweetie?" she offers Lucas, kissing him on the forehead.

"Thanks again," Sam says, and then the four of us depart.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"So, cute kid," Dean says to Andrea as we walk down the street.

"Thanks," Andrea replies.

"Kids are the best, huh?" Dean adds. Andrea ignores him, and I try not to feel triumphant as we reach our destination.

"There it is," Andrea points. "Like I said, two blocks."

"Thanks," says Sam. Andrea looked at Dean and chuckled, "Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line." She sashayed away, calling over her shoulder, "Enjoy your stay!" I try not to take too much pleasure in this. I do feel slightly bad for Dean's bruised ego, after all. But honestly, I'm glad I didn't have to see a woman be charmed by him.

"'Kids are the best'?" Sam quotes, incredulous. "You don't even like kids."

"I love kids," Dean argues.

"Name three children that you even know," Sam challenges.

"She's a kid," Dean tries, pointing at me.

"She's a teenager," Sam differentiates.

"I'm twenty!" I correct, blushing.

"Whoa, really?" Sam blinks. "I would've pegged you for sixteen."

"Everyone does," I sigh.

"Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you that, Sammy," Dean apologizes. "Actually, she'll be twenty-one this summer."

"See! I'm no kid!" I cry.

"You're right. You're not," Dean agrees with an amused smile. "My bad." _Do I just look so young that he forgot? _I wondered with a frown, flashing back to when my hairdresser had guessed I was **twelve **last May. _At least, he remembered when I said my birthday was…Maybe he is starting to see me as an adult, after all._

"So, _do _you know any kids, Dean?" Sam snickered.

"I'm thinking!" Dean huffed, and I couldn't help but laugh.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

When we checked into our motel room, Sam looked at me as if something just occurred to him.

"Uh, hey Dean…" he pointed out. "There's only two beds. Where's Kelley supposed to sleep?"

"Is there a sleeper-sofa or something anywhere?" I asked, realizing this was indeed a problem.

"No," Dean replied after he checked. "Um, it's ok. You can have my bed. I'll just sleep on the floor."

"What?" I responded guiltily. "No, I wouldn't want you to have to do that for me. I'll take the floor, its fine."

"I'm not letting a lady spend the night on the floor," Dean insisted chivalrously.

"I have an idea," Sam suggested. "Kelley's pretty small, right? There's enough room on the bed that you two could share."

"NO!" I shrieked immediately. "I-I can't sleep in the same bed as _him_!"

Dean looked slightly offended. "Damn, Kelley," he asked. "What is it, you think I'm going to attack you in your sleep or something?"

"No," I clarified. "I'm sorry. It's not that. I know you're a good guy and you're not going to do anything to me." _It's not your intentions I'm worried about, _I couldn't tell him. _It's mine. Beside my bed in my dorm, back in my world, I have four or five pictures of you that I drool over every day. I've crushed on you and dreamed of meeting you since the tenth grade. Now, I know I can't have you. Not like I want. So I don't need the temptation of having you sleep right next to me, just out of my reach. It'd be torture. _

These boys had no idea how I _really _felt about them. If they knew what a crazy fangirl I really was, I'd be ashamed. Fortunately, Sam guessed a different reason for my decline of his offer. "You just have a really strong sense of propriety, don't you, Kelley?" he conjectured. "You've probably been raised to think that's sinful, or something like that, am I right?"

"I'm definitely not judging you, Dean," I cleared up. "But, uh, yeah, I think it'd be improper to sleep next to you." _I'm so full of shit. It's not because it's a breach of etiquette, it's because it's _you. _But I can't say that, so go ahead and think I'm a prude. It's better this way. _

"I don't get it," Dean admitted, "But if that's what you want, Kelley, fine." He went over to his bed and picked a pillow and quilt off of it. "I only need one pillow, and it's warm in here, anyway, so you can have these for tonight."

"Thank you," I said, accepting them graciously. Buying me things, giving up his bedding- Dean really was being good to me. I felt bad for making him think I doubted his kindness. But I knew how things had to be. After setting the quilt and pillow in a corner, I started unpacking the toiletries Dean had bought me and putting them in the bathroom. I heard Dean putting his clothes in the closet, and Sam opening up his laptop.

"So there's been three drowning victims this year," I heard Sam announce.

"Any before that?" Dean called.

"Uh, yeah," Sam replied. I walked back into the main room and saw that he had a browser window open to the _Lake Manitoc Tribune._ DROWNING TAINTS ICE FISHING FESTIVAL, the headline read. He clicked, and another popped up: 12-YEAR-OLD GIRL DROWNS IN LAKE, SECOND DROWNING IN SIX MONTHS AT LAKE MANITOC. "Six more spread out over the past thirty-five years," added Sam. "Those bodies were never recovered either. If there is something out there, it's picking up its pace."

Dean tossed a jacket onto the bed, before crossing his arms and asking, "So, what, we got a lake monster on a binge?"

"This whole lake monster theory, it, it just bugs me," Sam disagreed. Dean walked over, and now we were each reading over one of Sam's shoulders. "Why?" asked Dean. "Loch Ness, uh, Lake Champlain, there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts, but here, almost nothing," Sam cited. "Whatever it is out there, no one's living to talk about it." Sam started scrolling through the comments section when Dean pointed to something and stopped him.

"Wait, Barr, Christopher Barr," he said. "Where have I heard that name before?

"Christopher Barr, the victim in May…" Sam read. He clicked a link to a new article: LOCAL MAN IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT. The picture that ran with it showed a police officer with Lucas. "Oh. Christopher Barr was Andrea's husband, Lucas's father. Apparently he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned. Two hours before the kid got rescued." He scratched his head. "Maybe we have an eyewitness after all."

"No wonder that kid was so freaked out," Dean figured. "Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over." I frowned. I knew he must be thinking of Mary, his own mother, who he'd lost when he was only four. I knew the exact circumstances of her death – they were just like Jessica's – but Dean didn't _know _that I knew, so I couldn't talk to him about it. I wished I could comfort him, but I supposed I would have to wait until he shared that information with me. When he did, I would have to try my best to act surprised.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Hoping to continue our investigation, we headed to the park. As we expected, we found Andrea there, on a bench.

"Can we join you?" Sam asked.

"I'm here with my son," Andrea replied, indicating Lucas, who was coloring at a nearby picnic table.

"Oh," said Dean. "Mind if I say hi?" he asked, before approaching the boy without waiting for a response.

"You two. Tell your friend this whole _Jerry Maguire_ thing is not gonna work on me," Andrea snorted at us.

"I don't think that's what this is about," Sam informed.

"It isn't," I agreed. "He's a great guy. Listen, I'll go over there with him and make sure everything's ok." As I walked toward Dean and Lucas, I wondered why I'd stuck up for him. Persuading Andrea that Dean was worthy of her was counterproductive to what I really wanted. Maybe I just wanted him to be happy. Or maybe I just felt bad about earlier. I shook my head. I needed to help Dean question the kid, not stand around thinking about what was in it for me!

"How's it going?" I heard him ask as he picked up one of Lucas' toy soldiers. "Oh, I used to love these things." He played with it for a second before noticing that Lucas didn't seem interested. "So crayons is more your thing? That's cool. Chicks dig artists."

"Yup, we totally do," I winked, and Lucas looked up at me curiously while Dean went through his sketchbook. "Hey, these are pretty good," Dean told him. "You mind if I sit and draw with you for a while?" He picked up a crayon. "I'm not so bad myself." While Dean started drawing, I cleared my throat and told Lucas, "Your mom seems really nice. I think she's worried about you." My eyes flicked to Dean, who was focusing on his doodle and didn't look up. "You're lucky, Lucas. Not everybody has a mommy like that to try to talk to them and make them all better."

Lucas ignored me.

"You know, I'm thinking you can hear me, and Kelley," Dean fathomed. "You just don't want to talk. I don't know exactly what happened to your dad, but I know it was something real bad. I think I know how you feel. When I was your age, I saw something." He paused. I wondered if maybe he didn't want to tell Lucas his secret with me there. But I didn't intend on leaving. "Anyway," Dean continued, "Well, maybe you don't think anyone will listen to you, or, uh...or believe you. I want you to know that I will. You don't even have to say anything. You could draw me a picture about what you saw that day, with your dad, on the lake. Okay, no problem. This is for you." He showed him the picture he'd drawn. "This is my family," he explained, pointing at each person in turn. "That's my dad. That's my mom. That's my geek brother, and that's me." Lucas still said nothing. "All right, so I'm a sucky artist. I'll see you around, Lucas," Dean waved, and then I followed him back over to where Sam and Andrea were sitting.

"Lucas hasn't said a word, not even to me," explained Andrea. "Not since his dad's accident."

"Yeah, we heard. Sorry." Dean said soberly.

"What are the doctors saying?" Sam asked gently.

"That it's a kind of post-traumatic stress," Andrea admitted sadly.

"That can't be easy. For either of you," Sam empathized.

"We moved in with my dad," said Andrea. "He helps out a lot. It's just...when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw..." She trailed off.

"Kids are strong," Dean counseled. "You'd be surprised what they can deal with." _Are you talking about yourself again, Dean? _I wanted to ask. He wouldn't even look at me. I could tell he was uneasy about what I'd heard him confess to Lucas. He didn't know that I already knew all about it.

I looked over at Lucas again, who had started towards us.

"You know, he used to have such life," Andrea said ruefully. "He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish…"

Lucas interrupted by walking up, holding a picture.

"Hey sweetie," Andrea said softly. Lucas handed Dean the picture.

"Thanks," Dean said sincerely. "Thanks, Lucas."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dean was sitting on his bed, and I was lounging on my quilt on the floor, when Sam came in with a disturbed expression on his face. "So, I think it's safe to say we can rule out Nessie," he declared, hiding his fear in sarcasm.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. Sam sat next to him on the bed before enlightening, "I just drove past the Carlton house. There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead."

_No. _I thought. _Damnit, I forgot about him. I forgot that happened before the boys found the ghost's identity. Screw the butterfly effect, I should've just told them what was doing this. This is all my fault. _

"He drowned?" Dean asked.

"Yep. In the sink." said Sam.

"What the hell?" Dean swore, bewildered. I remembered now. I'd seen the scene where it happened so many times, how I had forgotten? I could picture it clearly now, after it was too late. Will cleaning a fish in the sink, neglecting to turn the water off after. The water turning brown, then black. Will trying and failing to drain the sink. A spectral hand reaching up, grabbing him, dragging him under. The way he screamed, the moment he finally stopped twitching as the water filled his lungs and he expired. The scene had been amusingly scary to me when it was on TV, like all scenes from my favorite horror series (I was addicted to _American Horror Story _and _The Walking Dead, _too) were. But now that I was picturing as happening to a real person, who I'd met and felt pity for, who I might have saved – it felt nauseating, traumatizing. I couldn't believe poor Will had had to go through that. He wouldn't have had to, if I had just remembered the plot of this episode - no, this real day – a little better. _Damnit. _

"So you're right, this isn't a creature," I heard Dean say. It stunned me out of my self-loathing reverie. "We're dealing with something else."

"Yeah, but what?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon?" Dean speculated. _No, it's a ghost, _I thought. _I should just open my mouth and tell you it's a ghost. I should have already. _

"I mean," Dean continued, "It's obviously something that controls water...water that comes from the same source."

"The lake," Sam realized suddenly.

"Yeah."

"Which would explain why it's upping the body count," Sam puzzled out. "The lake is draining. It'll be dry in a few months. Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants, it's running out of time."

"And if it can get through the pipes," it occurred to Dean, "it can get to anyone, almost anywhere." He stood up suddenly, looking panicked. "This is gonna happen again soon." He sat down again with a defeated sigh .

"And we do know one other thing for sure," Sam put together. "We know this has got something to do with Bill Carlton."

"Yeah, it took both his kids," Dean grasped.

"And I've been asking around," Sam supplemented. "Lucas's dad, Chris? Bill Carlton's godson."

Dean got up again, a determined look on his face. "Let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We found him sitting by the dock again.

"Mr. Carlton?" called Sam. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

"We're from the, the Department…" Dean began.

"I don't care who you're with," Bill interrupted. "I've answered enough questions today."

"Your son said he saw something in that lake," Sam pressed. "What about you? You ever see anything out there? Mr. Carlton, Sophie's drowning and Will's death—we think there might be a connection to you or your family." And then suddenly it's all coming back to me. Will's drowning scene wasn't the last in this episode. Bill was next. He was the one who had killed the ghost. He and the sheriff were the ones were the ones the ghost was really after. I knew as soon as we left, Bill, broken by his losses, was going to beg for the ghost to just take him and be done with it. And the ghost was going to comply.

"My children are gone. It's...it's worse than dying. Go away. Please," I hear Bill say, and before I can stop myself I'm muttering, "No."

Dean looks at me. "Kelley, what are you doing? Let's go."

"No," I repeated. "I don't want to leave." _I don't want to let him die, too. If I stay, maybe I can fight the ghost for him._

_Maybe I'll just get myself killed. He's the one the ghost really wants, so it'll put up a hell of a fight. I don't have a salt-filled shotgun. I don't even know how to shoot. What am I supposed to do? Can I make a salt circle? Even if I do, can I convince Bill to stay in it? He __**wants **__to die. _

_How do I stop a suicide by ghost?_

"Kelley, he wants us to leave," Sam insists, not getting why I'm planting my feet into the ground. "This man has been through enough. Let's just leave him alone."

"No," I say again, and I feel like crying. They don't get it, they don't know what's coming, not like I do.

"Miss, with all due respect, if you don't get off my property I'm going to call the cops," Bill says to me.

Dean puts an arm on my shoulder. "Kelley, come on," he says. _If I stop the ghost from taking its murderer, who knows how long its rampage will continue? _I realize. _Maybe it will go after someone truly innocent, like Lucas or Andrea, instead. _Then I remember: the ghost IS going to go after Andrea, tomorrow. If I keep insisting on picking this battle, trying to stop a guilty man for paying for what he's done, the ghost might move up its time table and, if he can't take Bill today, decide to take Andrea now, when we're not there to save her. And so I'm forced to make a choice.

"Goodbye, Mr. Carlton," I say, and Sam and Dean leave the room before I do, so Bill is the only one to hear me whisper, "I'm sorry."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"What do you think?" Sam says when we get back to the car, and I have to remind myself that they have no idea what's about to happen.

"Aw, I think the poor guy's been through hell," Dean replies. _His hell will be over soon._ "I also think he's not telling us something. Kelley, you got any psychic feelers telling you anything?"

"We shouldn't have left his side," I say clearly.

"He wasn't going to answer any more questions," Dean shrugged. "So what's the point?" _No, you don't understand. I can't make you understand. Damnit. _

"So, now what?" Sam asks. Dean goes still. "What is it?"

"Huh," Dean says, looking at the Carlton house. "Maybe Bill's not the only one who knows something." Dean pulls out the picture Lucas brought him. It's of a house. This one. _Lucas, _it occurs to me, _is the real psychic here. Maybe he knows what I know, too. _

_Maybe he knows, too, that this isn't a battle I can win. _

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"I'm sorry, but I don't think it's a good idea," Andrea says when we show up at her house, asking for Lucas.

"I just need to talk to him," Dean pleads. "Just for a few minutes."

"He won't say anything," Andrea maintains. "What good's it gonna do?"

"Andrea, we think more people might get hurt," Sam admits. "We think something's happening out there."

"My husband, the others, they just drowned," Andrea denies. "That's all."

"If that's what you really believe, then we'll go," Dean promises. "But if you think there's even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let me and Kelley talk to your son."

When she relents and takes us up to Lucas' room, we find him coloring again.

"Hey, Lucas," Dean says softly, crouching next to him. "You remember me?" Lucas ignores him. "What about my friend, Ms. Kelley?" Lucas doesn't look at or speak to me, either. He just keeps drawing red bicycles.

"You know, I, uh, I wanted to thank you for that last drawing," Dean begins. "But the thing is, I need your help again."

Dean opens the house picture and puts it down in front of Lucas. "How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen?" he asks. "You know, Kelley sees bad things before they happen, too."

I speak up. "Lucas, I saw something bad that was going to happen to somebody, but nobody would believe me when I told them." I hear Sam, standing in the doorway, stifle a gasp. He knows I'm talking about Jessica. I glance at him and his face takes on a regretful expression. I didn't mean to imply that it was his fault for not heeding my warning, but I think he does blame himself for that. It's not his fault. I should have done more to convince him. When I'd heard Brady talking to Jessica, I shouldn't have let myself become paralyzed by fear. I should have jumped out of the bushes and gotten Jessica out of there. I shouldn't have waited for the Winchesters. I should have saved her myself, because I knew _exactly _what was going to happen if I didn't act. I was the one who was at fault for not saving Jessica. I was the one about to be at fault for not saving Bill, too. I wasn't going to let Andrea be lost, too. Not when I could stop it. "I felt so bad, and I blamed myself, because I couldn't stop bad things from happening. Lucas, you're lucky," I continued. "You can make this all stop. You have people who believe in you, who are waiting to listen to your warnings, if you'll just give them to us. Can you do that? Please?"

Lucas remains mute. "Maybe you could nod yes or no for me," Dean suggests. He's looking at me with sad, concerned eyes. I don't think he realized the extent of my guilt until now. Lucas keeps coloring.

"You're scared," Dean assesses. "It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age…" He contemplates not saying anything because I'm there, and he doesn't want someone he's known for just a few days to know his past. But I think he realizes that I've already admitted something painful, so it's alright. We may not have known each other for long, but we can be honest with each other. He continues, "I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too."

Lucas drops his crayon and looks up at Dean. He hands Dean a picture of a white church, a yellow house, and a boy with a blue baseball cap and red bicycle in front of a wooden fence.

"Thanks, Lucas," Dean says so gratefully.

"Thank you very much," I add. "We can make a difference now."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

When we get back in the car, Dean is quiet for a second. He turns on the radio and "Too Daze Gone" starts to play. Then he says, "Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died."

"There are case," Sam educates, "Going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies."

"Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?" Dean says.

"Wait, you're just figuring that out now?" I ask. "Lucas is definitely psychic, ok?"

"Like you?" Dean turns and asks.

"Like me," I say, and feel like a charlatan, because I'm not actually psychic. I'm just a fangirl with too much time on her hands. Lucas is the real thing.

"You're sure about this?" Sam asks. _When will he trust me? _I wonder.

"I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please," Dean offers.

"All right," Sam caves. "We got another house to find."

"The only problem is there's about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone," Dean complains. Sam looks at the picture. "See this church? I bet there's less than a thousand of those around here."

"Oh, College Boy thinks he's so smart," Dean teases. For a second, I think about how I'm supposed to be in college right now. I wonder if I'll ever see my college again. It's not like I can switch to a different college in this world when I'm driving around the country trying to save the world. I realize I'm going to become a dropout like Dean. The thing that surprises is me that I don't care. My priorities have changed. I have lives to save now.

"You know, um..." Sam fumbles. "Dean, what you said about Mom... You never told me that before."

"It's no big deal," Dean dismisses. "Oh God, we're not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?"

I laugh. Then, Sam turns around and looks at me. "Kelley…about what you said." My laughter dies.

"I don't blame you," Sam says softly. "I mean, I did at first. But I've thought about it, and I realize you were just trying your best to help me. You did everything you could. It's not your fault it didn't work out. If you think I wanted you to go jump into that fight, with no training, and get yourself killed trying to save Jess…No. That's not I want. I want you to know that I am glad you're here. And I'm going to start listening to you. I want to protect you, because I do believe that you are here for a reason. I think you will be able to change things if you stay with us long enough."

I feel so relieved to hear him say that. I was starting to think he hated me, and that he was going to keep questioning my motives and my advice forever. I don't know if it's because of my confession of self-blame, or because he sees part of me in Lucas, but I think Sam finally has accepted me as his friend and ally. And so I reach my hands over the car seat in front of me and I hug him from behind. "Unlike Dean, I'm not against a hug or two," I grin. "And I want you to know….You are going to stop blaming yourself eventually. We're going to fix this."

"I know," Sam whispers. "I believe you."

And then I have to hug him again. This time, I extend an arm and pull Dean in, too. To my surprise, he doesn't fight it.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We approach a white church shaped like the one in Lucas' picture. Dean holds up the picture and looks at it, comparing it to the scene in front of him; there's a yellow house next to the church and a wooden fence near the house. Sam looks at Dean, then they both look at me. The three of us look up at the church and cross the street to the house.

"We're sorry to bother you, ma'am," Dean tells the old woman who answers the door. "But does a little boy live here, by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle…"

"No, sir," the woman says. "Not for a very long time. Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now." _Peter. That's right. That was the ghost's name. _She sighs. "The police never—I never had any idea what happened. He just disappeared. Losing him—you know, it's...it's worse than dying." Dean glances at Sam. Her words are an ironic echo of Bill's, who I know is getting out his boat to sail to his doom right about now. At least I know his pain will soon be over.

"Did he disappear from here? I mean, from this house?" Dean inquires.

"He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he never showed up." Dean picks a picture off the old woman's mirror. There are two boys in the picture, one with blue ball cap and a red bicycle. DEAN reads from the back of the picture. "Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, nineteen seventy."

When I see how miserable old Mrs. Sweeney is, I stop feeling so bad that Bill is about to die.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%Moments later, we're barreling down the street in the Impala. "Okay," Sam recaps, "this little boy Peter Sweeney vanishes, and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow. "

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Bill sure as hell seems to be hiding something, huh?"

"And Bill, the people he loves, they're all getting punished," Sam notices. _ At least the madness will be over soon. _

"So what if Bill did something to Peter?" Dean understands, at last.

"What if Bill killed him?"

"Peter's spirit would be furious. It'd want revenge. It's possible." _It's more than possible, boys. It's exactly what's happening. _

_Thank God you've finally figured it out. _

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We pull up to the Carlton house, and I know exactly what we're going to find. "Mr. Carlton!" Sam calls, but of course there's no answer. Then, they hear the speedboat engine revving. We go around the house to see Bill going out on the lake in his boat. Sam and Dean run to the end of the dock, yelling. I know it's useless. The old man has made up his mind. It's near impossible to save somebody that doesn't want to be saved. Part of me feels terrible that I can't do anything to stop this, but…Bill isn't like Jess. He isn't innocent. He isn't fighting it. And I don't think he's going to suffer. I think maybe this is the only way to stop his suffering. Maybe by letting this happen, I'm saving him, after all.

But the boys don't get that. They're still screaming. "Mr. Carlton! You need to come back! Come out of the water! Turn the boat around!"

"Mr. Carlton!"

Bill, as expected, ignores them and keeps going. The water rises up and flips Bill's boat over. It and he vanish. I knew this was going to happen. So I can't explain why I screamed. Or cried. But when I was done, I told Sam and Dean, "I'm sorry, boys. I tried to tell you. Lucas and I both tried to tell you this was going to happen. Now you know."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We drive to the police station after that. Andrea's there, and she's surprised to see us. "Sam, Dean. Kelley…" she mutters. "So now you're on a first-name basis," the sheriff snaps. Glaring at us, he asks her what she's doing here. "I brought you dinner," Andrea explains. She's such a sweet woman. I feel bad for my initial dislike of her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," the sheriff says more gently. "I don't really have the time."

"I heard about Bill Carlton," Andrea says. "Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?"

"Right now we don't know what the truth is," says the sheriff. "But I think it might be better if you and Lucas went on home." _No, don't do that! _I think. Lucas looks up and whines, looking stricken; he jumps up and grabs Dean's arm. He knows what I know. He knows this isn't over. As soon as Andrea goes home, Peter is going to try to drown her. Unlike Bill, I won't be able to accept it if Andrea dies. I don't care anymore that Dean likes her. I get why he does. She's a kind, good woman. A great mom. An innocent.

"Lucas, hey, what is it?" Dean asks. The boy, despite my pleads for him to speak and give the warnings I can't, is still mute. "Lucas." Dean repeats, eyes wide with concern. "Lucas?" whispers Andrea, wanting to do something, anything for her child.

"Lucas, it's okay. It's okay," Dean soothes. "Hey, Lucas, it's okay. It's okay!" he echoes. He's not going to stop saying it until the boy believes it. _He may not know many kids, _I thought to myself. _But Dean is actually pretty good with them, after all. _I wondered if it was because of the way he basically raised Sam. Andrea pulls Lucas away from Dean and leads him outside. Lucas doesn't look away from Dean. The sheriff throws down his jacket and goes into his office. Sam, Dean, and I follow. "Okay, just so I'm clear, you see," the sheriff reviews, "something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill—who is a very good swimmer, by the way—into the drink, and you never see him again?" The three of us looked at each other.

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Dean affirms.

"And I'm supposed to believe this, even though I've already sonar-swept that entire lake? And what you're describing is impossible?" the sheriff questions. "And you're not really Wildlife Service?"

Dean looks surprised, and, to be honest, so do I. I'd forgotten that the sheriff was savvy enough to figure this out. God, had I remembered **anything **useful about this episode?

"That's right, I checked. Department's never heard of you two," the sheriff gloated.

"See, now, we can explain that," Dean backpedaled.

"Enough," the sheriff growled. "Please. The only reason you're breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So, we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton's disappearance. Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get into your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again."

"Door number two sounds good," Sam decides.

"That's the one I'd pick," the sheriff concurs.

They don't understand yet. They don't know that we can't just leave. They don't realize that this isn't over. Andrea isn't safe. But to avoid arrest, I get in the car with Sam and Dean and say nothing. If only because I know we'll be back.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We're in the Impala, waiting at a traffic light. A sign saying "I-43 North to Milwaukee" is to the left. The light turns green. The Impala doesn't move.

"Green," says Sam.

"What?" Dean blinks.

"Light's green," Sam reminds. Dean turns right.

"Uh, the interstate's the other way," Sam points out, puzzled.

"I know," Dean replies. The boy is sharp. I didn't even have to tell him we weren't done here. His instincts gave him a sixth sense of his own.

"But Dean, this job, I think it's over," Sam contends. _Wrong._

"I'm not so sure," Dean disputes. _Good. You shouldn't be. _

"If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed. The spirit should be at rest," Sam says logically.

"All right, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done? You know, what if we've missed something? What if more people get hurt?" Dean asks.

"But why would you think that?" Sam asks, still not getting it.

"Because Lucas was really scared," Dean explains.

"That's what this is about?" Sam scoffs.

"It's not just Lucas," Dean reasons. If he says this is about Andrea, I'm going to scream. But instead, Dean looks at me through his mirrors, and says, "Kelley, I know you're trying to hide it, but you're scared, too."

"I am not!" I deny.

"You're not as hard to read as you think, sweetheart," Dean smiles bitterly. "But…after Jessica…after Bill…It's finally occurred to me that if you're uneasy, it's for a reason. You might know something I don't. You're not going to tell me. I get that. But if two out of two clairvoyant kids I know are scared, I know we can't leave just yet."

"I'm not a kid," I say, trying to smile.

"Oh, I know," Dean says with what's almost a grin. Then he looks back to Sam. "I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay."

"Who are you?" Sam teases. "And what have you done with my brother?"

Dean glances at Sam.

"Shut up." %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dean is pounding on the door as soon as we reach Andrea's house. Lucas answers, obviously terrified, and barely even looks at us before he's taking off for the bathroom, where I already know Peter is in Andrea's bathtub, trying to drown her. Lucas starts banging on the bathroom door. Water is pouring out from under the door, spilling out onto the stairs. I watch as Dean kicks in the door. He hands off Lucas to me, who I hold protectively, trying to make him stop crying, as Sam pulls Andrea from Peter's clutches, saving her. She begins coughing up water. She's going to be ok. The feelings of uselessness I've had all day begin to fade away. They're replaced by the certainty that is everything is going to be alright, after all.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dawn is breaking. Andrea is dressed now, sitting in the living room with us. She had me get her clothes for her while the boys sat with Lucas after our daring rescue. "It doesn't make any sense," Andrea says, and starts crying. "I'm going crazy." She puts her face in her hands. "No, you're not," Sam assures her. "Tell me what happened. Everything."

"I heard...I thought I heard...there was this voice," Andrea confesses.

"What did it say?"

"It said...it said 'come play with me'," Andrea sobs. "What's happening?" I put a hand on her shoulder. This poor woman. I regret being so jealous of her. She didn't do anything wrong. However, I know who did. Dean's about to know, too. He pulls out a scrapbook that says "Jake – 12 years old" and opens it, flipping pages. He closes it again and goes to Sam and Andrea; he puts the book down in front of Andrea, open to a picture of Explorer Troop 37. "Do you recognize the kids in these pictures?" he asks.

"What?" Andrea blinks. "Um, um, no. I mean, except that's my dad right there. He must have been about twelve in these pictures." She moves her finger over to another picture of Jake – that must be the sheriff's name - as a child; he is standing next to Peter. Dean looks at Sam and I.

"Chris Barr's drowning," it dawns on him. "The connection wasn't to Bill Carlton. It must have been to the sheriff."

"Bill and the sheriff—they were both involved with Peter."

"What about Chris?" cries Andrea, frantic. "My dad—what are you talking about?" Dean looks sideways. "Lucas?"

Lucas is staring out the window.

"Lucas, what is it?" Dean asks. "Kelley?" He looks at me. "One of you tell me what's going on, come on."

Lucas opens the door and walks outside. Everyone follows. "Lucas, honey?" Andrea calls. Lucas stops and looks at the ground, then at Dean and I.

"You and Lucas get back to the house and stay there, okay?" Dean tells Andrea, then grabs me by my sleeve. He knows I know what Lucas is getting at. "If you want answers, start digging," I suggest. Andrea pulls Lucas back to the house. Then I go with Dean to get shovels from the Impala, and we start digging at the spot where Lucas pointed to. We strike something red.

"Peter's bike," Sam realizes.

"Who are you?" calls a voice. It's the sheriff. We turn around; he's there, pointing a gun at us. Dean steps in front of me protectively.

"Put the gun down, Jake," Sam recommends. We drop the shovels.

"How did you know that was there?" Jake asks.

"What happened?" Dean demands. "You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake and then buried the bike? You can't bury the truth, Jake. Nothing stays buried."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," the sheriff lies.

"You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney thirty-five years ago. That's what the hell I'm talking about," Dean snarls. Suddenly, Andrea runs up. "Dad!" she cries. "And now you got one seriously pissed-off spirit," Dean concludes.

"It's gonna take Andrea, Lucas, everyone you love," Sam warns. "It's gonna drown them. And it's gonna drag their bodies God knows where, so you can feel the same pain Peter's mom felt. And then, after that, it's gonna take you, and it's not gonna stop until it does." He looks at me. "I'm right, aren't I, Kelley? That's what's gonna happen? Is that what you see?"

I nod.

"Yeah, and how do you know that?" the sheriff asks.

"Well, I don't even need a psychic to figure that out," Sam says. "I know. I know because that's exactly what it did to Bill Carlton."

"Listen to yourselves, all three of you," the sheriff says dismissively. "You're insane."

"I don't really give a rat's ass what you think of us," Dean declares. "But if we're gonna bring down this spirit, we need to find the remains, salt them, and burn them into dust. Now tell me you buried Peter somewhere. Tell me you didn't just let him go in the lake." _Of course he did. Because otherwise it'd be too easy. _

"Dad, is any of this true?" Andrea asks, obviously freaking out.

"No," the sheriff lies. "Don't listen to them. They're liars and they're dangerous."

"Something tried to drown me," Andrea reminds. "Chris died on that lake. Dad, look at me." The sheriff does. "Tell me you—you didn't kill anyone." The sheriff looks away. "Oh my God."

"Billy and I were at the lake," the sheriff recalls. "Peter was the smallest one. We always bullied him, but this time, it got rough. We were holding his head under the water. We didn't mean to. But we held him under too long and he drowned. We let the body go, and it sank."

Andrea is horrified. "Oh, Andrea, we were kids," the sheriff tries to excuse himself. "We were so scared. It was a mistake. But, Andrea, to say that I have anything to do with these drownings, with Chris, because of some ghost? It's not rational."

Dean realizes we don't have time for this. "All right, listen to me, all of you," he says. "We need to get you away from this lake, as far as we can, right now." This is around the point where we realize Lucas is about an inch from the water's edge. Andrea screams. A hand comes up and pulls Lucas into the water just as we reach the edge of the dock. I stop short, just barely able to hit the brakes and avoid tumbling into the lake myself. Sam and Dean, on the other hand, don't stop. They dive straight into the haunted lake to try and save Lucas.

"Oh my god!" Andrea shrieks. She takes off her jacket to jump in.

"Andrea, stay there!" Sam warns.

"No! Lucas!"

"We'll get him! Just stay on the dock!" Sam insists, then calls out to me. "Kelley! Help us!"

I clench my fists and lower my head, feeling weak and stupid. _How am I supposed to tell them…?_

"Kelley?" Sam calls again. "Come on, start swimming!"

"I….can't." I mutter.

"What?"

"I said I can't swim!" I call out, ashamed. _You can't even do something so simple, _the negative voice in my head cackled. _How is it you think you're going to save anyone?_

Sam, realizing I'm not coming to help, dives under again. Dean comes up. A minute later, so does Sam. Neither of them have found Lucas yet. The kid is their sole focus – that's why I'm the only one who notices when the sheriff takes off his jacket and prepares to wade into the lake. I know for a fact that if I let him do this, he will die. Peter will take him. _Maybe I _can_ do something, _I realize, and I grab the sheriff's wrist. "Don't do this," I plead. "Don't go in the water."

"I have to," the sheriff insists, wrenching out of my grasp and diving in. _No. _"Peter, if you can hear me," the sheriff cries out, "Please, Peter, I'm sorry. I'm so—I'm so sorry."

Now Andrea notices what her father is doing. "Daddy, no!" she cries.

I reach over the edge of the dock to try and grab the sheriff's arm again, drag him back to safe, dry land. "Andrea, come help me!" I cry, and she comes running over and grabs his other arm. We start dragging him towards us. He twists away from our grasp, resisting our aid. "Girls, let me go," the sheriff begs. "I have to do this. You know I have to. It's what I deserve."

"No!" Andrea declines. "I don't want to lose you, too!"

"You'll lose Lucas if you don't let me go," the sheriff reminds. "Agent Fisher, tell her to let me go." It takes me a minute before I realize he's talking to me. He knows, somehow, that I know how this day is supposed to end. He's asking me to stop fighting his fate. Then, he addresses the ghost again, "Peter. Lucas—he's, he's just a little boy. Please, it's not his fault, it's mine. Please take me."

Out in the middle of the lake, Sam and Dean choose this moment to come up for air.

"Jake, no!" Dean cries. "Kelley, hold onto him, don't let him go!"

I'm trying my best to do that, so is Andrea, but Sheriff Jake is having none of it. "Just let it be over!" he cries, talking as much to me as Peter. I cling fast, but a shape breaks the surface and I find myself staring directly into the eyes of the ghost of Peter Sweeney. "Can't you just forgive him?" I plead. But that's not what ghosts do. Andrea and I are still gripping the sheriff's arms when he's pulled from underneath so hard and fast that we realize if we don't let go we'll be dragged down, too. Instinctually, our hands release, and then he's gone. The sheriff is dragged down.

"Daddy!" Andrea wails. "Daddy! No!"

Sam and Dean dive down again, and when they come up, this time, Lucas is in their arms. The innocent is saved, and the guilty punished. It's exactly how things were supposed to end. But it's not how I wanted things to be.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next morning, Sam, Dean, and I walk out of the motel to the car. Sam tosses his duffel in, while Dean carefully places a suitcase of things he bought me back in Colorado in the trunk.

"How did you sleep last night?" Dean asks. "I hope the floor wasn't too hard."

"It was fine," I lie. The truth is, I wouldn't know, because I didn't sleep at all.

"Look, we're not gonna save everybody," Sam reminds Dean and I. Dean looks haggard. I don't think he had a restful night, either.

"I know," Dean says sadly.

"Sam, Dean, Kelley!" I hear a voice call out to us, and Andrea walks up with Lucas.

"Hey," Dean greets them.

"We're glad we caught you," Andrea smiles. "We just, um, we made you lunch for the road." I notice Lucas is carrying a tray of sandwiches. "Lucas insisted on making the sandwiches himself."

"Can I give it to them now?" Lucas asks. It's strange, but wonderful, to hear him speak.

"Of course." Andrea smiles and kisses Lucas' head.

"Come on, Lucas, let's load this into the car," Dean suggests.

"How you holding up?" Sam asks Andrea once they're out of earshot.

"It's just gonna take a long time to sort through everything, you know?" she sighs. I know how she feels. Entering a world where ghosts exist, and people you meet keep dying, is the worst shock in the world. At least Andrea doesn't have to keep fighting them now, like I do. I start to question why I ever wanted to be a part of this world.

"Andrea, I'm sorry," Sam says.

She shakes her head. "You saved my son. I can't ask for more than that. Dad loved me. He loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold on to that."

I'm starting to feel melancholy, so I walk over to Dean and Lucas.

"All right, if you're gonna be talking now, this is a very important phrase, so I want you to repeat it one more time," Dean is telling the kid.

"Zeppelin rules!" Lucas says cheerily.

"That's right. Up high." Dean holds his hand up for a high-five. Lucas obliges, grinning.

"You take care of your mom, okay?" Dean says seriously.

"All right," Lucas promises. Then, to my surprise, he hugs me. "Thank you, Ms. Kelley," he tells me.

"For what?" I ask. _I don't feel like I did anything. I couldn't even save your grandfather. Or Bill. Or Will. I didn't change a thing. _

"I can tell you're doubting why you're here," Lucas says, and I remember he's a _real _psychic. "Relax," he says. "I don't see things that are going to happen anymore. But before I stopped doing it, I saw one more thing." He motions for me to come closer, and I crouch so he can whisper in my ear: _"You're going to help him. The one who's special to you. You're going to change his life. For the better. I promise." _I jolt upwards, turning red and unsure what to say or think. Lucas giggles. "Come on, Ms. Kelley," he chides. "You're the one who told me that telling people what I see can help them if they just believe it! So believe me, ok? You're going to help a lot more people like me, too!" With that faith-restoring prediction, he scampers off.

Andrea comes up and kisses Dean, and I look away. "Thank you," she says. Dean thinks a minute, then scratches his head and goes around the car. "Sam, move your ass. We're gonna run out of daylight before we hit the road!" he hollers. "You too, Kelley!"

Dean hops into the driver's seat and Sam takes shotgun, while I climb into the back. "Movin' On" comes on the radio as Dean revs the engine. I smile as I look out the window and see Andrea and Lucas waving goodbye.

_Did I really make any difference in their lives? _I wonder as we drive away._ Am I going to make any difference in the Winchesters'? _ But Lucas is right: I'm just going to have to believe.


	4. Chapter 4: Phantom Traveler

Hindsight, Chapter 4

By: Storychan

**I've been telling my fellow fangirl friend I'm going to update this for a while….I've had so much homework tho _ I had three tests just today… *sigh* But I'm starting this now! This time, it's the episode with the planes…Poor Dean. Haha. But Kelley will be there for him! So he'll be ok.**

…**..Maybe. XD**

**Dean and Kelley get some cute moments in this chapter, but I'm trying not to make it TOO shippy. I hope Dean (and Sam…he and Kelley have some great friendship moments in this chapter, too!)'s staying IC. Let me know how I'm doing! The chapter's only (LOL) over 9,000 words this time!**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review! Seriously! I have no idea if anyone even enjoys this or not….**

**-Storychan**

I'm on the floor again that night at the next motel we stop at, somewhere between Wisconsin and the Eastern seaboard, but that's not why I can't get to sleep. The reason is that every time I close my eyes, their faces start running through my head. Jessica's. Roy's. Bill and Will Carlton's. Sheriff Jake's. Every day I'm in this world, there's more of them. People who…stayed canon. Stayed dead. Normally I'm all about sticking with canon, but this isn't a fanfiction. This is my real life now.

I try to remember Lucas' words. _"You're going to help him. The one who's special to you. You're going to change his life. For the better. I promise." _I know that, unlike me, he's a real psychic. So what he says is true. I know better than anyone that when someone sees the future, you should heed them. I do believe what Lucas told me. I mean, I have to. But I wonder how long it's going to take before I can start making things go AU. Before the difference he says I'm going to make reveals itself. I'll hold on until then, don't get me wrong. But in the meantime, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to deal with this.

Sam isn't dealing with things too well, either. I hear him mutter Jessica's name in his sleep. I don't doubt for a minute that he's having nightmares about her death still. Then I hear him gasp as he wakes up. He notices I'm awake, too, and walks silently over to the quilt I'm lying on in the corner, trying not to wake Dean. He crouches down next to me. "Kelley?" he whispers.

I sit up and look into his brown eyes. "What's up, Sammy?" I mutter. This time he doesn't call me on using that nickname. I suppose he has bigger concerns right now. Or maybe he's too tired to notice.

"Do you…uh…want to watch TV with me?" he asks awkwardly. He doesn't want to talk about what we're both angsting over. _Of course he doesn't, _I think. _He's such a man. _But then I realize I don't want to talk about it, either. I'll probably start crying, and I've always hated people seeing me cry. Besides, there's nothing I could say that would make it better. So, in the end, I nod, and he turns on an infomercial. He sits on the edge of his bed, and I sit down next to him. I look at a clock on the bedside table next to where Dean is snoring, and I realize its 3 AM. There's probably nothing better on. At least it's a distraction.

"Wish we had popcorn," I mutter.

"We'll go to the convenience store later, when it opens, and get some," Sam suggests. "We can pick up breakfast, too."

"Fair enough," I agree. We sit there in silence for a while, not talking, not touching. Then, Sam turns around like he's checking to see if Dean's asleep. Then, he clicks the TV off and looks at me. "Kelley…" he begins uncertainly.

"Yeah?" I prompt.

"When you told me about what was going to happen to Jess," Sam explains. "You…you said you knew I'd had nightmares about it, too. Before it happened."

"That's right." Sam's nightmares, although he didn't know it yet, were a manifestation of his latent psychic abilities. Abilities given to him by the demon that killed his mother and now Jessica. I didn't plan to clue him in. The longer he remained unaware that he had demonic blood beginning to awaken inside of him, the better. That knowledge was going to bring him nothing but pain.

"The fact that I saw it before it happened...does that mean I'm…like you?" Sam questioned. He meant, _Am I psychic? _But as you know, I'm not psychic. Not really. So it wasn't really a lie when I replied, "No, you're not like me at all."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief that sealed my decision to shut my mouth. "So…it's just a coincidence."

I frowned.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, shaking his bangs out of his sympathetic eyes. "I should stop bringing this up. I told you I don't blame you. And you told me not to blame myself, either."

"But it's hard, isn't it?" I confess with a wry smile. "To stop feeling guilty, even when you realize nobody else holds you accountable, and that there's nothing you could have done."

"But I _could _have done something," Sam argued. "Unlike you, I'm an experienced hunter. If I'd just listened to you, I could have _fought_."

"Trust me," I told him, placing a hand atop his. "You've never faced anything like her killer before."

But interestingly enough, I knew that tomorrow we were going to face the_ exact_ same kind of thing: a demon. Tomorrow we'd be in Pennsylvania, saving airline passengers from the first demon to be referred to as such in _Supernatural. _And it would lead the boys to a hint about their father's whereabouts, which I still felt an extra layer of guilt for not divulging. But then, the plane wouldn't rescue itself. I couldn't change this piece of history.

"So…do you know what killed her?!" Sam demanded, and I regretted opening my big mouth.

"I…." I stammered. "I know you'll come closer to finding out for yourself what it was tomorrow."

Sam's expression brightened. "We're going to get a lead?"

"More than one mystery will come closer to being solved," I responded cryptically.

Sam wanted me to say more. He was smart enough to realize I knew more than I was letting on. But I was done talking for the night.

"Kelley," he said finally. "Just….don't tell Dean about how my nightmares came true. Even if it was just a coincidence. Okay?"

I knew Dean was going to find out the truth eventually. But it wasn't my secret to tell. So I merely nodded and then clicked the TV back on, and we watched it in silence as we waited for the hour that the convenience store would open. Even when that hour struck and we got into the Impala and went shopping, we still didn't speak for the rest of the night.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

When we come back through the motel door with our shopping bags, Dean wakes up.

"Morning, sunshine," Sam smirks. I wave tiredly.

"What time is it?" Dean mumbles sleepily.

Sam checks his watch. "Uh, it's about five forty-five," he replies.

"In the morning?" Dean clarifies.

"Yep."

"Sorry," I mutter, and step closer to Dean with one of the bags in my hand. "If it's any consolation, I brought you pie." I know it's a running gag that Sam always forgets the pie, but now I'm here to remember it. Dean sits up and grins at me eagerly, taking the bag from me. Inside is cherry pie in a plastic container. "You're awesome," he smiles, pleased. "My favorite! How'd you know?" I blush. "Oh. Right," he realizes. "ESP. You're _really _awesome." I don't reply, and, shrugging, he begins chowing down. His bedhead, drowsy smile, and compliments are almost more than I can take. The fact that I've done something to make him happy elevates my mood, too.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Dean probes in between bites. "Either of you?"

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours," Sam swears. "Kelley, too."

"Liar," Dean calls out instantly. "'Cause I was up at three, and you two were watching a George Foreman infomercial."

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV," Sam defends. He nudges me, and I nod.

"When was the last time you two kids got a good night's sleep?" Dean asks, worried.

"I don't know, a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal," Sam claims, and I nod again in the affirmative.

"Yeah, it is," Dean protests.

"Look, I appreciate your concern…" Sam starts.

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you," Dean interrupts. "It's your job to keep my ass alive, Sam, so I need you sharp. And you, Kelley – you're a brand newbie. If we're going to keep training you and taking you on hunts with us, the only way you're going to _live _long enough to learn how to do this job right is to stay alert. You're even worse than Sam, because you don't have field experience drilled into your head yet. A kid like you has to focus twice as hard."

"She's not a kid," Sam shrugs. "We'll both be fine. I'll watch out for her."

"You can barely watch out for yourself," Dean snorts. "Both of you are useless to me if you keep going like this. Seriously, are you guys still having nightmares about Jess?"

Sam crosses the room, sits on the other bed, and hands a coffee to Dean. "Yeah," he admits. "But it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you."

"You can't let it," Dean reminds. "You can't bring it home like that." He sighs. "Kelley," he addresses me. I'm still standing next to his bed. "Since I'm trying to teach you how to hunt, that's lesson number one, alright? You can't let it get under your skin, you hear me?"

"You really expect her – or me, for that matter, to do that so easily?" Sam questions. "So, what? All this it...never keeps you up at night?"

Dean shakes his head.

"Never?" Sam presses. "You're never afraid?"

"No, not really," Dean insists nonchalantly. Sam reaches under Dean's pillow to pull out a large hunting knife and holds it up as evidence. Dean takes the knife back. "That's not fear," he differentiates. "That is precaution. And Kelley, you should start sleeping with your knife, too. You never know when something or someone is going to attack you in your sleep."

"How can you say something like that to a kid like her?" Sam gasps.

"Because it's the truth," Dean says seriously. "And you just said she's no kid. She's always saying that. Right, Kelley? So, fine. I won't treat her like one."

"I'm ok with that," I nod, looking at Sam meaningfully. I always wanted to be a _real _hunter, didn't I? I'm sick of playing damsel, like I'm no different than Andrea.

Sam shrugs. There's a majority now, and it hasn't ruled in his favor. "All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue."

Just then, Dean's phone rings. He answers it. "Hello?"

I'm standing close enough that I can hear what the guy on the other end of the call is saying: "Dean, it's, uh, it's Jerry Panowski. You and your dad helped me out a couple years back."

"Oh, right, yeah," Dean recognizes. "Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing. It's not back, is it?"

"No. No. Thank god, no. But it's something else, and...uh, I think it could be a lot worse." I already know that Jerry's right.

"What is it?" Dean asks.

"Can we talk in person?"

Dean looks at Sam, then at me. Then, before I know it, we're packing up our stuff – I insisted on getting a Hello Kitty suitcase – and getting into the Impala for another long drive.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We meet Jerry in a hangar outside Lehigh Valley International Airport.

"Thanks for making the trip so quick," he greets us. "I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out," he tells Sam.

"Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?" Sam reviews.

"Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie!" calls out a passerby.

"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking," Jerry gripes. "Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?"

"Yeah, I was," Sam says vaguely. "I'm—taking some time off."

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time," Jerry recalls.

"He did?" Sam blinks, and the happiness on his face is enough to quiet any regrets I was having about letting them take this job.

"Yeah, you bet he did," Jerry grins. "Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?"

"He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now," Dean fabricates.

"Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?" Jerry smiles. Dean laughs.

"No, not by a long shot," Sam says humbly.

Then, Jerry notices me. I'd been hanging back nervously, in a slightly professional black cardigan without a trace of kitties. "And, uh, who's this?" he asks.

"A friend," Dean explains quickly, for which I'm grateful. "Her name's Kelley. She's been helping us out for a while now." _Have I really? _I wonder, but say nothing. "She can be trusted," Dean adds, noticing Jerry's uncertain expression.

"Alright," Jerry shrugs. "Listen, I got something I want you three to hear." He takes us to his office and leads us to a computer on his desk. "I listened to this," he says, "And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley. He puts a CD in a drive. "Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours."

We listen intently to the recording: "Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britania 2485—immediate instruction help! United Britanis 2485, I copy your message—May be experiencing some mechanical failure..."

There is a loud whooshing sound, and then the audio ends.

"Took off from here," Jerry elucidates, "Crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh...well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault."

"You don't think it was?" Sam asks.

"No, I don't." _And you're right, Jerry, it's a demon, _I want to say. But the boys have never faced a demon before. They'll never understand if they don't solve this mystery themselves, I decide.

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors…" Sam starts to plan.

"All right."

"And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asks.

"The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage..." Jerry frowns. "Fellas, little lady, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance."

Dean frowns. "No problem."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

A few hours later, Sam and I are sitting in the Impala outside of a Copy Jack, waiting for Dean.

"You've been in there forever," Sam complains through the open window, as Dean walks out, holding up three IDs.

"You can't rush perfection," Dean grins, seemingly proud of his lawlessness. I have to admit it's attractive.

"Homeland Security?" Sam asks, shocked, as he takes one of the IDs and hands another back to me. "That's pretty illegal, even for us."

"Yeah, well, it's something new. You know?" Dean defends. "People haven't seen it a thousand times." He gets into the car. "All right, so, what do you got?"

"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder," Sam says, pulling out an electronic device he'd apparently been working on.

"Yeah?

"Listen," Sam instructs. He plays the tape, which has been edited to pull out a scratchy voice.

"_**No survivors!" **_the voice hisses.

"'No survivors'?" Dean quotes, confused. "What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors." And that's when I remember, with a chill, that the demon is going to start picking them off, one by one. But, God help me, I can't recall who it starts with. I'm being about as much help as last time. I remind myself, again, that Lucas told me I _am _going to make a difference, but part of me wants to drive back to Wisconsin, shake the kid, and ask him _When?_

"Got me," Sam shrugs.

"So, what are you thinking? A haunted flight?" Dean hypothesizes.

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers," Sam educates.

"Mm-hmm."

"Or remember flight 401?"

"Right," Dean recites. "The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights."

"Right."

"Yep."

"Maybe we got a similar deal." I want to tell them that they're close, but not close enough. It's not a ghost, it's a demon. But even if I tell them that, I can't tell them how to stop it until they figure out who it's going to possess next. A fact I myself don't remember. _Damnit. _

"All right, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?" asks Dean.

"Third on the list: Max Jaffey," Sam says without question.

"Why him?"

"Well, for one, he's from around here," Sam enlightens. "And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did."

"What makes you say that?" wonders Dean.

"Well, I spoke to his mother," Sam sighs. "And she told me where to find him. Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital."

We drive there next.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We meet Max in their garden. He's looking agitated. "I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security."

"Right. Some new information has come up," Dean handwaves. "So if you could just answer a couple questions..."

"Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything...unusual?" Sam queries.

"Like what?"

"Uh, Dean…" I mumble.

"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices." Dean suggests.

"No, nothing," Max says, raising an eyebrow.

"Mr. Joffey…"

"Jaffey."

"Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right? Can I ask why?"

"I was a little stressed," Max snarks, getting annoyed. "I survived a plane crash!"

"Uh huh," Dean says skeptically. "And that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?"

"I...I don't want to talk about this anymore," Max mutters, looking away.

"See, I think maybe you did see something up there," Dean guesses. "We need to know what."

"No," Max refuses. "No, I was...delusional. Seeing things."

"He was seeing things," Dean repeats, amused.

"It's okay," Sam soothes. "Then just tell us what you thought you saw, please." I take Max's hand supportively. He blushes before continuing uncertainly, "There was...this—man. And, uh, he had these...eyes—these, uh...black eyes. And I saw him—or I thought I saw him..."

"What?" Dean asks eagerly.

"He opened the emergency exit. But that's...that's impossible, right?" Max cries, jerking his hand away from me. "I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door."

"Yeah."

"Uh, Sam…" I mutter.

"This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?" I say and press my hand to my forehead.

"What are you, nuts?" I have to stifle my laughter at this, which I knew was coming, before Max reveals, "He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The manifest Sam obtained from Jerry tells us the man that sat in front of Max on that doomed flight was one George Phelps, and it's his house we drive to next. It's a dead end, but the boys won't know that until they traverse down it. I know this is going to be boring. Y'all can skip it if you want. We interview Phelps' widow, who has a photograph draped in black on her mantle.

"This is your late husband?"

"Yes, that was my George."

"And you said he was a...dentist?"

"Mm-hm. He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that..."

"How long were you married?"

"Thirteen years."

"In all that time, did you ever notice anything...strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?"

"Well...uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean."

Sam and Dean look at each other, incredulous, and then at me. Then we calmly exit the house, feeling we just lost a few minutes we'll never get back.

"I mean it goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense," Sam sighs.

"A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified," Dean agrees. "And since Kelley's ESP doesn't seem to be picking up anything useful…You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage."

"Okay," Sam says. "But if we're gonna go that route, we'd better look the part."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dean hands me some cash he won at poker, and I walk into a women's clothing store by myself. When I come out, I see the boys leaving a men's formalwear store. They're wearing crisp black suits with white shirts and black ties.

"Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers," Dean groans.

"No, you don't. You look more like a...seventh-grader at his first dance," Sam chuckles.

"I think you boys look handsome," I say, trying not to ogle them too much. "You really mean that?" Dean smirks. He and Sam turn and look at me. I'm wearing a black pencil skirt with hose and heels, and a blazer over a white oxford blouse.

"Wow, you don't look so bad yourself," Dean grins. "You could actually pass for a twenty-something."

"I _am _a twenty-something," I grumble.

"Nah, you're twenty," Dean teases. "There's a difference."

"I look old," I sigh.

"No, you look…legal," Dean decides. "_I _look old."

"Hey," Sam chides. "You want into that warehouse or not?"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We enter the warehouse and show our badges to the security guard, who nods and lets us in. We walk among plane wreckage; Dean pulls out a device and puts earbuds in his ears.

"What is that?" asks Sam. I already know.

"It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies," explains Dean.

"Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up Walkman?" Sam wonders.

"'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade," Dean grins proudly.

"Yeah, I can see that," Sam laughs. Dean's grin disappears. He runs the EMF meter over a piece of the wreckage with yellow dust on it and gets an audible spike. "Check out the emergency door handle," Dean commands. Dean scratches at the yellow dust and gets some on his hand. "What is this stuff?" he asks. I already know that its sulfur, the same substance that shows up during every demon infestation. But since this is the boys' _first _demon infestation, they don't know that yet.

"One way to find out," shrugs Sam, and scrapes some of the yellow dust off into a bag. Dean is still pouting that Sam doesn't think his EMF Walkman is cool.

"Hey, Dean," I say cheerily. "The fact that you can do really technical stuff, like build this EMF detector by yourself, means you're smarter than most people think."

"Wait," Dean ponders. "Does that mean most people think I'm stupid?"

"Uh…." That didn't come out the way I planned.

"How'd you know what people think of me, anyway?" Dean asks. "Mind reading part of your ESP, too? Yeah, get back here, Psychic Girl!" He starts chasing me around the room playfully, before tackling me and, laughing, ruffling my hair. I'm not sure why he's treating me like this, but I'm pretty sure this banter means he's truly accepted me as a friend. I'm laughing along with him, until suddenly my blood freezes as I hear the _actual _Homeland Security agents bust in, guns drawn. "Run," Dean whispers, before dragging me by the hand towards the exit.

We keep running when we hear an alarm start blaring. "Crap," I mutter, wheezing. I'm not good at running, never have been and the heels are **so **not helping.

"Do NOT make me carry you," Dean warns. "Jesus."

Sam reaches the fence and throws his coat over it before climbing over. Dean starts to do the same. "Well, these monkey suits do come in handy," he declares.

"Wait!" I cry. "I'm not sure I can climb that high!"

"Are you kidding me?!" Sam yells impatiently. "Dude, we have to go!"

"I got it," Dean grumbles. "Sammy, go long."

"Wait, _what_?" I try to protest, but suddenly Dean is grabbing me by my waist, picking me up….and _throwing_ me over the fence! I'd admire his strength if I wasn't so busy screaming. Fortunately, Sam catches me, then sets me down like a sack of potatoes before he goes back to running again.

"Hurry, stupid!" he calls behind him to me.

"Come on, Kelley," Dean says, dragging me again. "I ain't going back to jail."

"Back?" I echo.

Dean simply grins, and as we keep high-tailing it out of there, I have to admit breaking the law and not getting caught is kind of a rush.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We take Sam's sample to Jerry, who looks at it under a microscope before confirming, "Huh. This stuff is covered in sulfur."

"You're sure?" asks Sam.

"Take a look for yourself," Jerry invites. Banging sounds from outside the office, and then a man growling, "You effin' piece of crap..." Jerry rolls his eyes. "If you fellows and little lady will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire." As Jerry leaves, Dean goes over and looks into the microscope.

"He's right, you know," I tell him and Sam. "It is sulfur."

"Well now, if the scientist and the psychic both say so, I guess it's true," Dean decides. "Hmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue."

"Demonic possession?" Sam speculates.

"Bingo," I say before I can stop myself.

"Wait, you know that for certain, Kelley?" Sam asks, looking at me.

"Oh, uh, I just figured it out from a vision," I fib. "When we were at the wreckage."

"It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch," Dean figures.

"If the guy was possessed, it's possible," Sam settles.

"He **was **possessed," I insist. What's the point of knowing the answer to the riddle if nobody listens to you?

"This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup," says Dean uncertainly. "I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane? Are you sure, Kelley?"

"Yeah. I am." How many times do I have to say it?

"You ever heard of something like this before?" Sam asks Dean.

"Never," Dean replies, but I believe they've realized that I'm right.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We check into another motel, and soon Sam and Dean are in full research mode, with images and articles taped to the walls and strewn across the beds, and Sam is looking at something on the computer. Dean is reading something on one bed while sitting on the other. I'm making coffee to keep the both of them sharp and focused. I hand Sam a cup as he announces, "So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it."

"Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this," Dean argues, as I give him his own mug with the motel's logo on it.

"Well, that's not exactly true," Sam says scholarly. "You see according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease."

"And this one causes plane crashes?" asks Dean, getting up. "All right, so, what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?"

"Pretty much," I murmur, sipping the espresso I made for myself. I hate espresso, but I know we're going to have a long night ahead of us.

"Yeah. You know, who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one?" wonders Sam. Dean snorts, turning away. "What?"

"I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig," Dean frowns. "I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here." I knew that their dad already knew all about demons, and was searching for a different one now. Specifically, his wife's killer.

"Yeah. Me too," Sam agrees sadly.

"I promise you boys won't regret pursuing this further, even if it's just us," I assure them. Then suddenly, Dean's phone rings and he answers it.

"Hello?

"Dean, it's Jerry," I overhear.

"Oh, hey, Jerry."

"My pilot friend...Chuck Lambert is dead," Jerry reveals, and I'm hit with a wave of guilt. I'd been waiting, exasperated, for the boys to solve the mystery, but now I think I should've just told them. I didn't because I didn't think they'd believe me if they didn't see it for themselves, but now I'm wishing I'd at least tried. I'd failed another innocent victim. At least I'd never met this one personally. I tried to remind myself that since I'd never seen him face-to-face, there was no way I could've known where he might be, or how to convince him to stay out of the sky. But that didn't make me feel much better.

"Wha—Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?" Dean stammered, shocked, almost choking on the coffee I gave him.

"He and his buddy went up in a small twin about an hour ago. The plane went down," explained Jerry miserably.

"Where'd this happen?" Dean inquired.

"About sixty miles west of here, near Nazareth," said Jerry.

"I'll try to ignore the irony in that," said Dean, and I would've smiled if it wasn't so sad.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon." Dean hung up.

"Another crash?" Sam presumed.

"Yeah. Let's go," Dean replied.

"Where?"

"Nazareth," Dean and I said in unison. And then we were off.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

As we drive past a sign that says "Nazareth – 3 miles", we can see the smoke in the distance. We continue on to Jerry's office. When we get there, Dean has one immediate question, "Sulfur?" Jerry nods. "Well, that's great. All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him."

"With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news," says Sam.

"What's the bad news?" asks Dean.

"Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight. And get this, so did flight 2485."

"Forty minutes?" echoes Jerry, confused. "What does that mean?"

"Its biblical numerology," Dean expounds. "You know Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death."

"I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in," Sam reveals.

"Any survivors?"

"No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?"

"No survivors," Dean recalls, then thinks. "It's going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job."

"You're right. You've figured out," I said, taking no joy in the statement whatsoever.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Later, in the Impala, Sam is frantically calling all the survivors, while Rush's "Working Man" plays in the background. "Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks." He hangs up. "All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon."

"So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker," Dean concludes.

"Right," Sam confirms. "Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job."

"That sounds like just our luck," Dean sighs.

"Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel," Sam warns.

"Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass," Dean suggests.

"I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off," Sam informs. "God, we're never gonna make it.

"We'll make it," Dean says certainly. "Right, Kelley?"

"I've foreseen it," I smile, without doubt.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We rush into the airport and check the Departure board.

"Right there," Sam locates. "They're boarding in thirty minutes."

"Okay," Dean says confidently. "We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone." He picks up a courtesy phone.

"Airport Services," chimes a feminine voice.

"Hi. Gate thirteen," Dean requests.

"Who are you calling, sir?"

"I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um...flight 4-2-4."

"Amanda Walker, Amanda Walker, you have a phone call. White courtesy phone, gate thirteen," the intercom chimes.

"This is Amanda Walker," answers Amanda, picking up.

"Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here. Isn't that right, Nurse Amber?" Dean says, gesticulating at me. I know that James Hetfield is the name of the lead singer of Metallica, and "Sweet Amber" is a song of theirs. I smile like an idiot before I realize, "Oh!" and take the phone from Dean. "Yup, Karen Walker, right here!" I say. I don't think I'm very convincing.

"Karen?" Amanda repeats.

"Nothing serious," Dean says, taking the phone back from me, "Just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so…"

"Wa—wait, that's impossible," Amanda interrupts. "I just got off the phone with her." Dean pauses. "You what?"

"Five minutes ago. She's at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?" cries Amanda, getting pissed off.

"Uh, well...there must be some mistake," Dean backpedals. Sam looks at us, wondering what's going on.

"And how would you even know I was here?" Amanda harps suspiciously.

"Is this one of Vince's friends?" Amanda guesses.

"Guilty as charged," Dean lies.

"Wow. This is unbelievable."

"He's really sorry."

"Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?"

"Yes, but...he really needs to see you tonight, so…"

"No, I'm sorry. It's too late. That bitch Amber can have him, okay?"

Dean looks at me uncertainly, as if he's regretting his decision to include me on the ruse. "Don't be like that," he pleads. "Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic."

"Really?" Amanda asks, her tone changing.

"Oh, yeah," Dean says empathically. His skills at lying amaze me.

"Look, I've got to go. Um...tell him to call me when I land," Amanda says, and hangs up.

"No, no. Wait, Amanda!" Dean cries. "Amanda! Damnit! So close."

"All right, it's time for plan B," Sam declares. "We're getting on that plane."

"Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second," Dean says, eyes wide with panic.

"Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash," Sam convinces.

"I know," Dean says, squirming. I already know why.

"Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through the security. Meet me back here in five minutes," Sam plans out. Dean just looks at him anxiously.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks.

"No, not really," Dean confesses.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh..."

"Just tell him, Dean," I interrupt. I already know all about his phobia.

"Flying?" Sam guesses.

"It's never really been an issue until now."

"You're joking, right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Dean hisses. "Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?"

"All right. Uh, I'll just go with Kelley," Sam chooses.

"What?" Dean protests.

"It's that, or do this on my own."

"What are you, nuts?" cries Dean. "You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash. And neither of those are options! You can't go solo, you need backup. And no offense, Kelley, but you are not ready to back Sam up all by yourself."

"So, come with us," Sam advises.

""Come on! _Really_? Man..." Dean says, flustered but defeated. We sneak onto the plane, somehow. Dean, in the aisle seat, is anxiously reading the safety card. I sit directly next to him, with Sam on my other side.

"Just try to relax," Sam suggests.

"Just try to shut up," Dean glares.

"You wanna order a drink from the flight attendant or something?" I suggest.

"Sammy, this girl is brilliant," Dean says with a scared smile.

"Dude, no."

Then, all of a sudden, we're moving. As we start to take off, Dean chokes back a shriek and throws his arms instinctively around the closest thing and squeezing tight. That thing happens to be me.

"S-sorry," he says, releasing me and looking away, out the window.

"I-it's cool," I say, turning a brilliant scarlet. _OH MY CHUCK, DEAN WINCHESTER JUST THREW HIS ARMS AROUND ME AND HUGGED ME! _"I- I don't mind." This may be the best day of my fangirl life, but if I don't do something, it may also be my last. I place my hand next to Dean's on the seat. At this moment, he's so scared that he doesn't question it. He grabs my hand and clings to it like a lifeline. As the plane continues to ascend, I swear I almost hear him whimper. He ducks and buries his face in the top of my head. I pat his back reassuringly as I remind myself that I shouldn't be enjoying this so much. I think his breathing is starting to return to normal. Then, I hear him humming, though it's muffled by my hair.

"You're humming Metallica?" Sam recognizes.

"Calms me down," Dean explains, picking his head up.

"Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? But you got to stay focused," Sam warns.

"Okay," Dean says, but he's still holding my hand so tightly that it's starting to hurt. I can feel that his palms are sweating.

"I mean, we got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, anyway, and perform a full-on exorcism," Sam reminds.

"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy," Dean says sarcastically.

"Just take it one step at a time, all right? Now, who is it possessing?" Sam thinks.

"It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress," Dean figures.

"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up," Sam tries.

"Mm-hm," Dean says, and summons a flight attendant with a wave of his free hand, who is not Amanda.

"Excuse me. Are you Amanda?" he asks.

"No, I'm not," she replies.

"Oh, my mistake."

"Mm-hm."

Dean looks to the back of the plane and sees the real Amanda. He lets go of my hand, and I can't resist the urge to rub it. It's red. "All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state," Dean declares.

"What if she's already possessed?" asks Sam.

"There's ways to test that." Dean goes into his bag and comes out with a Virgin Mary–shaped bottle of water. "I brought holy water."

"No," Sam denies, snatching the bottle and tucking it inside his hoodie. "I think we can go more subtle. If she's possessed, she'll flinch at the name of God."

"Oh. Nice." Dean turns to go.

"Hey."

"What, Sam?"

"Say it in Latin."

"I know."

Dean leaves again.

"Okay. Hey!"

"Sam! What?!"

"Uh, in Latin, it's 'Christo'."

"Dude, I know that! I'm not an idiot!" Dean says, storming off.

"Should, uh, I go with him?" I ask Sam uncertainly.

"Yeah," Sam says, rolling his eyes. "If he wimps out again, he'll need you."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I follow him towards Amanda, and he grabs my hand one more time when we hit a patch of turbulence. I'm not complaining. When we find her, she asks if we need something as he lets me go.

"Oh, no. I'm just a bit of an uneasy flier. It makes me feel better to walk around a little bit. Uh, my sister, too," Dean adds, indicating me. _Sister? _I frown.

"Oh, it happens to the best of us," Amanda assures.

"Of course, you being a stewardess, I guess flying comes easy to you," Dean assumes. Amanda laughs.

"You'd be surprised."

"Really?" Dean gulps. "You're a nervous flier?"

"Yeah, maybe, little bit," Amanda admits.

"How is it that, being a stewardess, you're scared to fly?" Dean asks, incredulous.

"Kind of a long story," Amanda shrugs. Being a fangirl who can _never _think the right thing, apparently, I start wanting to write a oneshot about that story, before I shake my head and knock myself back to the here and now. I'm not a fanfiction author anymore, I'm living it.

"Right. I'm sorry for asking," Dean apologizes.

"It's okay," Amanda forgives.

"You ever consider other employment?"

"No. Look, everybody's scared of something. I just, uh...I'm not gonna let it hold me back," Amanda says bravely.

"Huh."

"So…"

"Christo," Dean murmurs quietly. "Deus," I add under my breath.

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" Amanda blinks

Dean hesitates. "Christo?" he tries again.

"I—I didn't, I didn't..."

"Yeah, nothing. Never mind. Come on, sis," Dean says, returning to his seat and pulling me with him.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"All right, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet," Dean tells Sam when we sit back down.

"You said 'Christo'?" Sam checks.

"Yeah."

"He did," I confirm.

"And?"

"There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her," Dean says simplu.

"So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere," Sam realizes. The plane shakes.

"Come on! That can't be normal!" Dean hollers. His arm is inches from my shoulder before he resists the impulse and puts it back against the armrest.

"Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence," says Sam.

"Sam, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm friggin' four," Dean growls.

"You need to calm down," Sam tells him.

"Well, I'm sorry I can't," Dean glowers.

"Yes, you can."

"Dude, stow the touchy-feely, self-help yoga crap, it's not helping," Dean snaps.

"You really wanna talk to me about 'touchy-feely', when you've been grabbing at Kelley like she's your personal safety blanket?" Sam replies.

"Shut _up_!" Dean cries, turning away so he doesn't have to look at either of us.

"Listen," Sam continues, "If you're panicked, you're wide open to demonic possession, so you need to calm yourself down. Right now." Dean takes a long, slow breath.

"Good," says Sam. "Now, I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work. The Rituale Romanum."

"What do we have to do?" Dean says, looking back at Sam but still ignoring me. I don't get him.

"It's two parts," Sam explains. "The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful."

"More powerful?" Dean repeats.

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Well, it doesn't need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own," Sam clarifies.

"Oh. And why is that a good thing?"

"Well, because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all," Sam says triumphantly.

"First things first, we got to find it," Dean reminds. He walks slowly up the aisle with his EMF meter, getting odd looks but no readings. I watch Sam following him quietly, and go, too. Sam suddenly claps Dean on the shoulder, and he jumps.

"Ah! Don't do that," Dean nearly squeaks. My poor baby. Even if he is being a dick.

"Anything?" Sam asks.

"No, nothing. How much time we got?"

"Fifteen minutes. Maybe we missed somebody."

"Maybe the thing's just not on the plane," Dean says hopefully.

"You believe that?"

"Well, I will if you will."

"And I'm your friendly neighborhood psychic," I snark, coming from behind and putting an arm around both of them, "Here to remind you that just because you don't believe it, doesn't mean it's not totally true. I've foreseen it. It's here."

Dean looks down as the EMF meter spikes. "You're right," he realizes, apparently remembering I exist again. We watch as the copilot exits the bathroom and heads towards the cockpit.

"What? What is it?" Sam asks.

"Christo," Dean breathes, and the copilot turns slowly to face us. His eyes are black. Then he strolls into the cockpit, and we're running for the other end of the plane.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"She's not gonna believe this," Sam says. He's talking about Amanda, the only person who can help us now.

"Twelve minutes, dude," Dean replies, and then we spot her.

"Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you and your sister, I hope," Amanda says to Dean and I.

"Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about," Dean replies. Sam closes the curtain.

"Um, okay. What can I do for you?" Amanda asks.

"All right, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole 'the truth is out there' speech right now." Dean puts it bluntly.

"All right, look," Sam adds, "We know you were on flight 2485." Amanda's smile disappeared. "Who are you guys?" she asked.

"Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure," Sam tells her.

"We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now," Dean says urgently.

"Please," I tack on, unsure of what else to say.

"I'm sorry, I—I'm very busy. I have to go back…." Amanda protests. She tries to brush past Dean, who stops her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay?" he pleads with her.

"He won't," I assure.

"But listen to me," Dean continues. "Uh...The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead."

"Wait. What? What, Chuck is dead?" Amanda cries, shocked and mournful.

"He died in a plane crash. Now, that's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as strange?"

"I…." Amanda sputtered.

"Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too."

"Amanda, you have to believe us," Dean begs.

"When someone tells you someone might die, and you can stop it," Sam says, fists clenched, and glances at me meaningfully, "You need to realize you're going to regret not listening." I know he's talking about Jess again. I wish there was something more I could do for him, but we don't have time for that right now.

"On...on 2485, there was this man," Amanda admits finally. "He...had these eyes."

"Yes. That's exactly what we're talking about."

"I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?"

"Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here."

"Why? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?"

"How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot….."

"Do whatever it takes," Sam interjects. "Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit."

Amanda hesitates. "Do you know that I could lose my job if you…."

"Okay, well you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't help us out," Dean interrupts. Amanda hesitates a moment more.

"Okay," she decides. She leaves and goes to the cockpit. She knocks on the door and says something inaudible to the copilot, who follows her back. Sam pulls out the holy water. Dean pulls out John's journal and hands it to Sam, who opens it.

"Yeah, what's the problem?" the copilot – no, the demon – asks.

Dean punches him in the face, knocking him down. He pins him down and puts duct tape over his mouth.

"Wait. What are you doing?" Amanda shrieks. You said you were just gonna talk to him!"

"We are gonna talk to him," Dean says, and splashes holy water on the demon's skin, which sizzles.

"Oh, my god. What's wrong with him?" Amanda wails.

"Look. We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain," Sam tells her.

"Well, I don't underst—I don't know…."

"Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that? Amanda?" Sam calls.

"Okay. Okay." Amanda nods, and leaves. I was going to push her if she didn't.

"Hurry up, Sam. I don't know how much longer I can hold him," Dean barks.

"Let me help you," I pipe, and pin whatever appendages Dean's grip is slipping on. The demon is fighting me, and I'm not a very strong girl, so I'm not sure how long I'll last, either.

"Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino…." Sam begins chanting.

The demon breaks free briefly from Dean and I and swipes at the boys, then hits me in the face. I taste blood in my mouth. "Don't you DARE touch her, you son of a bitch!" Dean howls and pounces on the demon, managing to subdue him again. "I'm ok", I tell Dean, and then I try and use the same duct tape we affixed to the demon's mouth on his arms. Sam picks up where he left off. The demon knocks Dean off again and pulls the tape off his mouth and wrists, then surges past me as I stumble and hit the floor. He grabs Sam by the collar.

"I know what happened to your girlfriend!" he taunts. "She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!"

Dean recovers and hits the demon as Sam sits there, stunned. I'm stunned, too, and can't bring myself to get up off the floor. _It's my fault, _I think.

"Sam!" Dean cries. "Kelley! Damnit, one of you do something!"

And then I suddenly stop feeling guilty, and I start feeling something else: rage. I didn't kill Jessica. Demons did. And I want to send this demon straight to hell where it belongs. I take out my knife and hurl it that demon. To my utter surprise, it rings true and strikes the demon in the arm. He moans in pain, and I feel satisfied, accomplished. Like I _am _fulfilling Lucas' prophecy after all.

Sam looks at me, shocked and awed for a second, then recovers and begins reading again. He puts the book down and helps Dean pin down the demon, who kicks the book up the aisle.

"I got him!" Sam cries. The demon exits the copilot's body and disappears into a vent. I feel slightly guilty when I realize the innocent person in there is going to have to deal with the stab wound I just inflicted. But there's no time for introspection now.

"Where'd it go?" cries Sam, louder.

"It's in the plane. Hurry up. We got to finish it!" Dean shouts. The plane suddenly dips and heaves violently. Sam struggles to retrieve the book as Dean splays himself against the exit door, screaming. I run to him. "It's ok!" I yell, grabbing both of his hands. "We're going to make it out of this alive, Dean! I've foreseen that we're going to! Calm down for me, please! Believe what I'm telling you this time!"

Sam manages to grab the book and reads the rest of the exorcism. A bright electrical charge runs through the entire plane, which then levels out. Various people ask if everyone's okay. Amanda sighs in relief. Dean and I emerge from behind the curtain. He's still got one hand in mine. With an embarrassed look, he lets me go. Sam stands up, and I don't care anymore if Dean doesn't like it – I hug them both, because this is the closest I have ever come to death, and I need reassurance that my prophetic words are correct and we have, indeed, made it out of this alive.

"Nice hit, by the way," Sam says, and, now, somehow, I feel more alive than ever.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Later, on the tarmac, the passengers from the flight are disembarking to an area milling with uniformed agents. The copilot is seated in a wheelchair with a blanket wrapped around him, and a bandage on his arm that I guiltily applied myself, being questioned by an FAA agent.

"Sir, can you tell me what happened?" the agent is asking.

"I don't know," the copilot testifies "I was walking through the airport, then it all goes blank. I don't even remember getting on the plane." Amanda is being questioned by another agent.

"Anything else?"

"No, that's all," she smiles. She sees Sam, Dean, and I standing across the way and mouths "Thank you". We nod.

"Let's get out of here," Dean suggests, and the three of us head for the exit.

"You okay?" Dean asks Sam and I. Sam stops and turns.

"Dean, it knew about Jessica," Sam says with a haunted expression.

"Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. All right? That's all it was," Dean assures him. He's wrong, so wrong, but telling the truth right now isn't going to help Sam feel better, so I just nod.

"Yeah."

"And you're ok, Kelley?" Dean asks.

"I'm fine," I say honestly. "I'm not hurt, and…Once I was able to stab that thing, I started to feel better about…everything. I think when we gank the thing that killed Jessica, I'm going to feel even better. That's when I'll be ok again."

"When?"

"Yeah," I say. "Call it a prophecy."

"Come on," Dean says, and the three of us walk on.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

We talk to Jerry again outside the airport before we leave. "Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do," he says gratefully. "A lot of people could have been killed."

He shakes the boys' hands, and hugs me.

"Your dad's gonna be real proud," he tells Sam and Dean. To me, he adds, "I'm glad I got to meet you, Kelley, and I'm sorry I ever doubted you. You are as much to thank for those people's safety as those boys."

I'm not sure if he's right, but it makes me feel good to think so.

"We'll see you around, Jerry," Sam says, waving. Dean begins to head off. "You know, Jerry," he says, stopping. "I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway? I've only had it for like six months."

"Your dad gave it to me," Jerry says simply, but as I expected, the boys' jaws drop. This was one of the leads I'd told Sam about at the motel last night.

"What?"

"When did you talk to him?"

"I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him," Jerry clarifies. "But I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call. Thanks again, guys." Jerry leaves.

Sam is still trying to process this. "This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service." Dean dials the number. As the voice message begins, he turns it so Sam and I can hear too.

"_This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help."_

Sam fumes and gets in the car. Dean follows, and turns the radio on, while I hop in the backseat. As we drive off, I whisper to Sam, "Another prophecy I made has come true. I told you you'd be one step closer to finding answers by the end of this, didn't I?"

I also told him we'd find a lead on what killed Jessica. What he doesn't realize yet is that both leads are the _same _lead. When we find John, we'll find Jessica's killer.

And from there, all roads lead to our doom.


End file.
